


Adhuc Maris

by TheLonelyCritic



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/M, Finally finished, Infrequent Swearing, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal actions, Unplanned Pregnancy, fluff in chapter eighteen, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 54,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLonelyCritic/pseuds/TheLonelyCritic
Summary: Hilarious as it was, the pair of them could’ve been considered star-crossed lovers and had Marisa not been married, theirs would’ve been a classic love story. Evidently, fate would also have it that their love would not be of the classical style.//The story of how Lyra Belacqua came to be.
Relationships: Edward Coulter/Marisa Coulter, Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Marisa Coulter & Marisa Coulter's Daemon
Comments: 52
Kudos: 100





	1. Setting the Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, this has definitely been in the works and it seems one of the few positives this lock-down has afforded is that I finally got the chance to complete it. Yes, I said it. It's complete! So there's no need to worry about getting invested to only be disappointed by an abrupt stop. I absolutely adore this ship and so I've dragged the story out to hopefully reach November in time for season 2. So, yep, it's a slow burn. 
> 
> BTW, I never really read the books (I kinda read The Golden Compass in year 8 and didn't like it much - IKR shocker!) so I bring a lot of random things from my own imagination. Anyways, that's enough of my babbling... please, enjoy:

Marisa stood dutifully by Edward’s side amidst the crowd that had gathered around them. This evening soiree had the initial intention of commemorating the work of Mr Coulter and his peers in aiding the King craft the Seven Articles that had finally resolved the decades-long conflict between the Crown and the Magisterium, concluding that the King, like all others, would be subservient to The Authority. However, by word of mouth among the London gentry and clergy, what was to be a small gathering in the lounge of the Coutler residence had transformed into a bustling shindig in the atrium of the house.

Marisa could feel Ozymandias’ restlessness as he trailed behind Virginia, Edward’s hedgehog daemon, who was making swift rounds around the group ensuring no daemon was acting unruly or out-of-place. Marisa tried to not let on her similar lack of zeal, that Ozymandias was showcasing, in regards to hosting this gathering. The series of greetings and introductions were becoming lengthy and Marisa felt her mouth drying up in need of any liquid at this point.

“Try and not wear your boredom on your face, dear.” Edward whispered into her ear in passing as he went to shake Minister Cramner’s hand. On cue, Marisa's face lit up with the grace and beauty she knew she possessed as she went to hug Minister Cramner’s wife.

“Mrs Cramner, I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

“Nonsense, how could I miss out on all the fun? Especially after these fine gentlemen have been slaving over that piece of legislation for fortnights.” Mrs Cramner smiled, attempting to assure the group that her appearance here had nothing to do with the demands of her husband. The man in question wrapped a possessive arm around his wife’s waist, pulling her closer to him. “Joanna wouldn’t let her current state coop her up in the royal chambers.” Minister Cramner assured.

“Of course not.” Edward agreed, forever the obedient parrot.

Marisa tried to avert her eyes from Joanna’s grotesquely large bump that strained at the indigo silk of her maxi dress. Joanna didn’t have the pregnant glow that usually accompanied women at this time but instead held a sickly gaze that failed to mask her discomfort, the roots of her hair stuck to her scalp in a sweaty mess. How the mighty had fallen. Marisa couldn’t help herself, wanting to draw the crowd’s focus on this now meek woman who had once walked around with an air of superiority. She took Mrs Cramner’s hand affectionately.

“You must be approaching your period of seclusion soon, is it not?” Marisa questioned, fully aware of the answer.

“Yes. In less than a fortnight.”

Before Marisa could continue down her dark path of revenge, humiliating the woman who had formerly offered her similar treatment, Lord Chancellor Rutherford had interrupted her.

“Honestly, I was quite worried the Privy Council wasn’t going to pass the Seven Articles since it effectively stripped the King of any royal supremacy he once had over the church. For instance, take the ‘Article to Restore Religious Justice’ - ”

With that, the conversation abruptly returned to the glorious feat that these men were more than happy to gloat about accomplishing.

“I felt the same precautions.” Edward agreed. “But I had renewed confidence that the King would have to follow the precedent set by other monarchs after the late Pope Calvin directed complete control of the Holy Church to the Magisterium.”

Her husband had constantly told Marisa how his work was going to save the King and Brytain from the civil war that had torn Europa apart; that the only way to maintain peace was to declare one’s allegiance to the Magisterium. These were one of the rare instances that Marisa agreed with Edward as anyone could sense that the religious environment in Brytain was edging towards fanaticism, with Anglia and Gales becoming ardent followers of the Magisterium while Caledonia still tried to maintain its Presbyterianism. But this fact did not draw from the truth that the Seven Articles stood as a building block to the deposition of the monarchy, something Edward was unwilling to admit.

As the group of men continued to delve deeper into the logistics of enacting the articles, Marisa could feel her time amongst them was due to end. She saw the wives of these men slowly begin to edge towards the drawing room, their daemons huddling around the entrance eager to enjoy the more relaxed environment the room offered. Still none dared to open the door until their host and her daemon was with them. The whole thing infuriated Marisa. Her time in politics had been so short lived it was quite insignificant and while her marriage offered the influence she always wanted, it came at the cost of her liberty to use said influence however she pleased.

Marisa was drawn out of her thoughts by the light pressure applied to her ankle by Ozymandias as he wrapped his tail around it. She observed him discreetly angle his head at the drawing room.

Times up.

“Gentlemen, do excuse us.” Marisa said with false charm, effortlessly making her eyes twinkle in the dimly lit hall. “I think it’s about time we ladies retired to the drawing room. Edward.” She nodded at him as she made her exist and he returned the gesture in kind. The ladies followed her lead, eager to spill all the gossip they knew to one another once they were out of ear shot of their husbands.

As Marisa stood by the now open door, greeting those she hadn’t been able to reach in the hall, she spotted more men pour into the atrium from the main entrance. One of them looked a bit out of place, rugged, sporting an outfit that definitely wasn’t evening attire.

“Marisa come over here, I have so much to tell you about my trip to Geneva.”

Marisa turned around to see a woman, who she recognised but had forgotten the name of, beckoning her to sit beside her on one of the plush velvet settees. Her golden monkey was already walking in the direction of the woman, cautious not to walk too far ahead. When Marisa turned back to close the door, the rugged man was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

“I’m sorry, do you mind passing the decanter?”

Asriel had been standing by the refreshment table for the better half of an hour, wordlessly observing the party as he frequently topped up his glass with the only bottle of 1962 Tokay on the table. His stupor had been interrupted by a slightly inebriated blonde dressed in a formal evening tux. He had a pleasant face but there was nothing special about it and if the platinum band on his ring finger was anything to go by, a poor woman had settled for him. Stelmaria was resting on the floor, blatantly ignoring the hedgehog that was trying to gain her attention.

Asriel lifted the empty decanter. “Apologies, Tokay is my poison.”

“I see.” The man was disappointed but was able to quietly settle for the scotch that laid close by.

“Edward Coulter, Crown Minister.” Edward extended his free hand and Asriel reluctantly accepted it. “Lord Belacqua.” Stelmaria, however, was in no mood to entertain the hedgehog and pointedly rested her head on her paws and closed her eyes. If only Asriel had her level of guts.

“Lord Belacqua.” Edward sounded it out, failing to hide his shock that the man who looked like something you would find at the bottom of the barrel had a title. “Let me guess, you do some exploration in your spare time.” Asriel didn’t know if the guy was trying to be funny or was just blandly stating the obvious fact that was made apparent by the travel clothes he wore, but whatever it was it was quickly getting old.

“And scholar by midnight, when the terrain gets too taxing.” Asriel dryly added with enough disinterest that he hoped the man would excuse himself before Asriel’s attempts to remain polite crumbled. But Edward carried on.

“Really, and what’s your expertise?”

“Experimental Theology.”

“I knew it!” Edward busted out, a few drops of the scotch escaping his mouth. “I have just the person for you to meet.” Edward quickly finished the rest of his drink before placing the glass on the table. “Wait here, I’ll be just a moment.”

Stelmaria opened her eyes again once the duo were out of their sight. “How much longer Asriel?” she sighed.

Asriel looked to see his friend, Theodore Gummer, still in hushed conversations with one of CCD investigators in the atrium, his rattlesnake daemon visibly too close to the investigator for it not to be a threatening pose. “Once Theo is finished, we’re gone.”

“Then he should hurry up.” Stelmaria grumbled, closing her eyes again.

Asriel looked around to see Edward approaching with a woman in his arms. She had coiffed, curly, dark hair that framed her face, her rouge lips and blue eyes in stark contrast to her fair skin. She glimmered in her gold silk dress that hugged tightly at her body, matched perfectly by the golden snub-nosed monkey that sat confidently in her arms. This wasn’t who Asriel thought Edward would bring to him but he was more than thankful for her presence that was much better than any of the stuffy men in the atrium.

“Lord Belacqua, this is my wife, Marisa Coulter.”

Marisa politely bowed her head but was too slow to hide the disgust across her face at the muddy hiking shoes she saw on Asriel’s feet as she raised her head.

“A pleasure.” She forced a smile as her monkey dropped from her arms, walking with caution to Stelmaria’s resting form. “My husband tells me you’re both a scholar and an explorer.”

“Well, it’s hard to be one without the other.”

“Quite so.” Asriel caught her shift in demeanor, she looked at him like he was a hopeless child, oblivious to the ways of the world, all the while maintaining her charming smile.

“Marisa here is thinking of returning to the world of research.” Edward offered, clearly proud to have such an intelligent yet dutiful wife.

“A female scholar.” Asriel let his astonishment slip before he could reign it back, female scholars were like rough uncut diamonds in a very masculine mine. Hard to come by and usually blemished with dirt and age when discovered but Marisa wasn’t one of those gems. She was the finished product that was being concealed from the world by the man by her side. “May I ask what your Alma mater is?”

“St. Sophia’s College, Oxford.”

“That’s like down the road from Jordan College.”

“Well not exactly -” Marisa tried to correct but Asriel paid no mind.

“How haven’t we met before?”

“I’ve been in London for quite some time now since -”

“She’s been helping out on the home front.” Edward interrupted.

If Asriel had not been interested in the bland man before, the man’s presence at this present moment was making him more of a jarring nuisance.

“But now that things have settled down after the difficult time we’ve all had with the battle to pass the Seven Articles, I saw fit that Marisa should return to her passion. Well at least before her other duties catch up with her.” Edward finished by pecking the woman in question on the cheek. If the guy was aiming for the charming, caring husband, he fell flat as a control freak. By the way Marisa looked dead straight into Asriel’s eyes, it was clear that she knew Asriel saw straight through Edward’s facade.

After an awkward beat of silence, Edward erupted again with a “Sorry, I’m being such a bad host. I must get back to my guest. I’m sure you guys have much to discuss,” he gave Marisa a firm squeeze on her shoulder, “and Marisa don’t leave the wives waiting too long.” With that Edward and his pitiful hedgehog were gone.

Stelmaria finally reopened her eyes only to see the golden monkey staring at her curiously, quite intrigued by her grey fur. But before he could reach out to touch it, Marisa let out a soft tut and the monkey was by her side. She turned to the refreshment table and Asriel watched as she poured herself a glass of Zinfandel. Her movements were purposeful and torturous, taking time to bring the glass to her nose to take a whiff of the red liquid before she drank it.

“Experimental Theology, right?” Asriel didn’t know how else to reopen the conversation but she was at least facing him now. “Do you know what you might look into?”

“I have an idea.” she said as she took a sip of her wine. Asriel could sense that was all she was going to say on the topic and he didn't blame her. There were dozens of scholars all too happy to poach ideas from others and present it as their own.

“Well if it isn’t work you want to talk about, what do you want to discuss?”

“Who said I wanted to hold a discussion with you? It was my husband that dragged me here in the first place.”

“Yes. But if that were true, you would have already left.”

There it was. A small smirk broke across her delicate face, “Lord Belacqua -”

“Asriel, please.”

She sighed softly, dropping her half-full glass onto the table. “Lord Belacqua,” she stretched out his name in a way that let the inflection she placed on the sharp vowels and consonants hang in the air between them, “I’m only here because I fear you don’t want me to leave just yet. As far as I can see you have no reason to be here, by the way you’re dressed you have no respect for this residence and what it stands for. But now that you’ve seen me, you’ve found a reason to stay and it would be cruel of me to take that away.”

Marisa’s sapphire irises were glowing in a knowing way, she knew what he saw when he looked at her and she wasn’t too shy or too pious to not acknowledge it. She actually enjoyed the lust she saw in his eyes. He felt Stelmaria’s tail brush against his legs as she started circling him, having finally got up, aware of the direction the conversation was going in and silently warning him to be careful. But Asriel was already lost, though he wouldn’t admit it. He stepped closer to Marisa, slightly pushing Stelmaria into the golden monkey who happily welcomed the contact.

“Now that you’ve seen right through me Mrs Coulter, what should we do?”

She ran her fingers quickly across his ribbed knitted turtleneck, allowing them to linger just long enough for him to feel the sensation but quick enough that none of the guests around the atrium would notice it.

“You, my lord…” her eyes looked at him with a yearning he had not seen before but was almost positive was reflected in his eyes too and there it was again, she was smirking. “You’re going to do nothing as you watch me leave as I rejoin my guests who are anxiously waiting for me.”

With that she stooped to the floor to pick up her golden monkey who had been busy stroking Stelmaria’s fur. Asriel couldn’t help but stare as her dress rode up, exposing the flesh of her ankle.

Why was he getting excited over a bare ankle?

She stood up, facing away from him, and rested the monkey on her shoulder. Asriel watched as the gold figure retreated with swift strides as if she hadn’t been blatantly flirting with him moments ago. But Asriel’s confidence in her interest was restored when her monkey turned around in her arms to have a last look at Asriel and Stelmaria before Marisa escaped into the drawing room.

“She’s trouble, Asriel.” Stelmaria warned.

“I know.” Asriel sighed longingly. “Aren’t we all?”


	2. To She Who Can Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marisa passes a milestone in her research with the help of someone unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters (obviously) - all rights reserved to Sir Philip Pullman. Enjoy XD.

The Coulters were seated at the back of their town car as they were driven through the bustling London streets by their driver, Mr Hubert. Outside, the world Marisa saw through tinted windows was as depressing as ever. Children were dotted across the pavement selling all manners of things, from sweets to shoe-shining to the large stacks of newspapers. Anything to get by. Marisa never found it in her heart to empathise with these children, they wouldn’t have been alive to labour so hard if their parents had kept to the Abstain initiative set by the Magisterium to limit the number of children born into poverty. But she did recognise their crestfallen faces as well-off adults passed by them without even a second glance, unwilling to drop a few shillings to bring the dirty little things out of their misery. That feeling of disappointment was all too familiar to Marisa. No matter how well she planned her life, something was always bound to get in the way and derail her destiny. Life in itself was one huge disappointment.

“Listen to this.” Edward announced, startling both their daemons who had grown so accustomed to these silent car rides that his voice came as a shock. “Hope Springs: The London scholastic circle is brimming with excitement over the Magisterium’s long awaited acknowledgement of the Rusakov’s Particles.” Edward continued as he read aloud an article from the newspaper, Veritas. “The approval by the Consistorial Court of Discipline on the discoveries made by Boris Rusakov almost two scores ago in the dangerous heights of New Denmark has opened the door for scholars to conduct research openly on these particles without fear of persecution from the CCD.”

Marisa took Edward’s pause as her cue to say something, to fuel the conversation. “Is that so?” she offered with mild interest. It would do no good to tell Edward that what was written in Veritas was yesterday’s news and that the report issued by the CCD’s lead investigator into Rusakov’s Particles had reached scholarly circles at least a fortnight before.

Edward carried on, ignoring her disinterest. “Even before the release of the report, scholars had already been risking imprisonment in order to further research into these particles with notable names including Stanislaus Grumman and Lord Asriel Belacqua.”

This caught Marisa’s attention. Has she been out of the loop for that long? Her return to research a couple of weeks ago had included a lot of catch up but how could she miss that further research into Rusakov’s Particles had recently been undergone under the nose of the Magisterium.

Edward turned to face her. “Did Lord Belacqua mention any of this?” 

“No. No, he didn’t.” 

Ozymandias was giving her a peculiar face, like they had been betrayed by Lord Asriel. _How silly?_ , she thought, _They barely know the guy. Why should he tell them?_

Edward scanned the rest of the article. “It concludes that no one knows what the particles actually are and that the Magisterium is yet to release an official document on it’s nature but they promise to do so before the turn of the new year.” He then folded the newspaper and gave it to Virginia who clutched it in her mouth, dropping to the car mat to put the paper in Edward’s briefcase. 

Edward turned to look at Marisa as she continued to gaze wordlessly out the window. “Maybe you can beat the Magisterium to it,” he had begun to stroke her arm, his clammy hands rubbing against her exposed skin, “find out what those particles are before them?”

“I already told you, Edward,” she shrugged off his hand, “I’m currently working on something.”

“Something you won’t tell me.” he remarked, giving her a pointed look. 

“Because there’s no need to.” Her voice was cold, a bit too cold but she didn’t feel like taking it back.

Edward’s reflection in the tinted window looked to Marisa like he wanted to continue the conversation but he thought better of it as the car stopped. He peered out the window to see that they had arrived at the College of London. It stood with grandeur, made out of marble and towering over nearby offices. It almost had as imposing a nature as the Magisterium’s Brytain Headquarters in Westminster. Eager to get out, Ozymandias used his tail to open the door as he jumped onto the pavement.

Marisa turned to Edward placing a light peck on his lips, careful not to smudge her rouge. “Thank you for being so understanding dear.” she said sweetly, offering him a warm smile. Just like that, her previous coldness has been forgiven as Edward's face broke into an endearing smile. 

Marisa climbed out of the car, being sure to take her coat and briefcase with her. She saw Virgina look at her with an annoyed expression, not happy with how easily Marisa could charm Edward into forgiveness.

“I might not come home today,” Edward started, “the King is returning from Europa with Ambassador Fantoche. A lot of business to discuss. Don’t wait up, dear.”

Like she ever did. “I won’t.” she reassured and with that she closed the door and watched the car drive off. 

She saw her monkey daemon bounding ahead, obviously happy to be free from Mr Coulter and his tense - to say the least - daemon, Virgina, for an extended period of time and Marisa had to admit she was quite pleased too.

“Hey, not too far.” Marisa chided as she followed Ozymandias’ lead.

* * *

The public library of the College of London, open to scholars who were non-members, was desolate. Not that it was ever busy with scholars but it lacked the hum of life that was usually present. When Marisa had questioned the librarian on this, he had informed her that a lecture was being held on the third floor and most, if not all, London scholars were in attendance. Marisa could only imagine what was being discussed, never having been invited to a lecture at a male college and not really finding the ones at St. Sophia’s groundbreaking by any means. Marisa could never shake off the feeling she was always one step behind her male counterparts, having to wait on a transcript of the lecture to be issued into the public libraries of these colleges just to keep informed. 

Marisa was startled out of her daze by the noise Ozymandias made as he slammed his tail on the open book that laid in front of her, hitting Marisa with a searing pain down her spine. She looked at him with a strong loathing and he matched her glare. _Yes, the research._ New Denmark, it seemed, was bigger than Marisa had expected and as she worked to locate a specific latitudinal line, the poor resolution of the map she was using made it impossible to find the precise point as the map jumped in latitudes of a score of degrees from the equator. Marisa fetched a ruler from her briefcase, hoping to work out smaller units on the map but even that wasn’t specific enough. She needed a larger, more detailed map. Already one step ahead of her, Ozymandias dropped to the floor and moved towards the bookcase. There were maps on nearly every continent and country imaginable but since barely any explorers traveled to New Denmark enough to make a detailed journal on the terrain, Marisa was stuck with the New World map. And even it was useless.

But her daemon was not yet satisfied and began to walk to the globe near the entrance of the library. Knowing it was futile, but having no choice but to join him, Marisa got up and followed in his direction. As she had expected, the globe was just as bad as a New World map. The globe didn’t even have latitudinal or longitudinal lines which wasn’t helpful in the least. Whilst staring at the big white blob that was New Denmark, Marisa heard the hallway become more lively as it seemed that the scholars were finally coming down from the lecture.

As curious as ever, Ozymandias crept near the entrance of the library to get a better earshot but swiftly ran back as the doors swung open and the scholars poured in. They sang words such as ‘groundbreaking’, ‘intriguing’, ‘dangerous’ and ‘heretical’. But Marisa paid no mind to that as her attention was caught, through the open door, by Asriel, who stood on the landing, talking to the Master of the college. Marisa didn’t know what it was this time; if it was because he looked so much smarter in the crisp blue shirt and dark sweater that he wore. Or if it was how his snow leopard daemon stood by his side in all her majestic beauty, in every way superior to the Master’s mole daemon. Or if it was the air of authority he possessed as he stood at the top of the stairs while she gazed up at him, from down below, like a peasant before her lord. But something about it sprung the desire in Marisa to go to him and devour the man whole, eliciting uncomfortable shivers that were only relieved once the doors swung shut again. 

Not even risking to find out what she might do if the doors were to open again, Marisa took hold of Ozymandias’ hand and stalked back towards her chair. Now desperately trying to bury herself in her work, using a piece of tracing paper to measure out more precise latitudinal lines on the image of New Denmark (to no avail) when she sensed someone taking a seat in front of her. _Please don’t be him._

She looked up to Asriel, who had a proud grin across his face, staring straight at her. Marisa sighed. If she spoke first, she commanded control over the conversation.

“You seem pleased with yourself.”

“I am.” he affirmed.

“Heard something you liked upstairs?” Marisa returned her focus to her book, wishing she could see what Ozymandias was doing. Heaven forbid, if he was attempting to touch Asriel’s daemon again.

“I would say so.” The lord leaned in closer. “I mean among the chorus of praise and accolades, it’s hard not to let the whole thing get to your head.” Marisa’s eyes shoot up to land on Asriel’s blue ones. “And I haven’t even reached Jordan College yet.”

“The lecture upstairs -” Marisa started.

“Was hosted by me.” Asriel finished, reveling in the moment. 

Marisa’s eyes rolled to the side to peer at Ozymandias who was, thankfully, keeping a respectable distance from the snow leopard who rested on the wooden floor. “Well isn’t that something.” she said, returning to her work.

She could hear Asriel impatiently drumming his fingers against the table and she liked how he couldn’t hide the fact that her silence infuriated him. That power she held over him alone made everything a lot easier.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What else should I say, Lord Belacqua?”

“Don’t you wish to know what was discussed?”

“Very much so.” Marisa’s brows furrowed as she stared at the mess of lines she had made on the tracing paper. This wasn’t working.

“And…” Asriel pushed.

“And I will find out when I get my hands on a transcript.” She looked up, smiling at him with a content look. “Until then, I would just have to live with the not knowing.” His eyes blazed with unspoken fury, how dare she belittle his work by acting as if it was something that she could wait for. Like his findings lacked importance. Now Marisa smirked. Her nonchalance bothered him, deeply. To drive it home, Marisa returned back to the useless map again, flicking through the book with intent as if she was looking for something.

After a tense pause, Asriel cleared his throat, adamant not to let the conversation end with Marisa having the upper hand. 

“So, what are you doing anyways?” He bent his head to read the title inscribed on the neck of the book. “What are you looking for in the ‘New World Map’?”

“Hmmm. Nothing worth talking about.” Marisa didn’t know how long she could keep feigning interest in this inadequate book but she would make it last until Asriel left.

“Well, I hope you're not looking for New Denmark in there.” Marisa stopped what she was doing. “The books up here always lack information when it comes to that country.”

She stared at him with distaste, was he attempting to ridicule her?

“I’m not looking for New Den-”

“Come now Marisa, I saw what you were doing when I sat down.” 

She remained silent, it would be better than fueling his ego with admitting to the lie she was about to make. It was bad enough he already seemed to have enough confidence to forgo all formality when it came to her name now.

“If you want a better one, follow after me in five minutes time. I’ll be waiting outside.” Asriel then abruptly got up and headed out of the library, paying no mind to the other scholars, as his daemon stalked after him.

Marisa contemplated leaving Asriel outside, waiting. But then she reasoned that Asriel was probably the type of guy to wait five minutes and not a second more and if she really wanted to make progress in her work, she was going to need to get her hands on a better map. So she gave Ozymandias the book so he could put it away and packed up her things, slinging the coat over her shoulder. When she reached out for her briefcase Ozymandias stopped her, gripping the handle with his own hand. Though she appreciated the gesture, she knew it would look childish to have him carry her briefcase however it was evident that he wasn’t going to let go, so she gathered him in her arms and exited the College of London. Not forgetting to offer a warm smile to the scholars as she passed them by.

* * *

Asriel as it would appear was actually keeping time, staring at his watch as he waited by a pillar outside. Once she was by his side, he finally looked up.

“Good, you had thirty six more seconds to spare.”

Ozymandias and the snow leopard began to descend the marble steps and Asriel followed after them. But Marisa stood her ground. 

“Where are you taking me, Lord Belacqua?”

“Where you actually want to be.” He said from a few steps down, intent on being the mysterious benefactor. “Come, it’s not that far.”

Marisa made sure to walk painfully slowly as to not let on that she was actually excited to find out where he was leading her but Ozymandias put pay to that not happening, eagerly matching the leopard's speed as the daemon rounded a corner. Asriel waited for her to catch up, smiling like a child eager to show her his secret hideout.

“What interests you in New Denmark, Marisa?”

“I don’t need to share that with you Lord -”

“Do you wish to undergo an expedition there? Because...”

Asriel didn’t need to finish his sentence, she knew what he was thinking and she thought it herself time and time again. But she would cross that bridge once she got there. They rounded the corner and saw their daemons waiting at a door in the alleyway that was connected to the college. Asriel pulled out a silver master key and quickly fiddled with the lock until the door opened. He, his daemon and Ozymandias, all slipped inside but Marisa waited outside, unable to shake off her apprehension. Asriel was, in the end, a stranger. The man reappeared at the door.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re scared” he sneered. 

“Not in your wildest dreams.” and Marisa stormed in after him. 

Asriel stood next to a desk at the centre of a circular room while Ozymandias followed after his daemon as she walked around the shelves that lined the round wall looking for something. At the opposite end of the room to where Marisa stood, she saw a small flight of stairs that presumably led to the main building of the college. 

“May I present to you the College of London’s inventory.” Asriel gestured around the room, proud of his grand reveal. 

“And why would this room be detached from the main building?”

“The architect of the college forgot to include it in the original design. An extension was made and here we are today.”

“Asriel, over here.” The leopard’s voice was everything Marisa imagined it to be. Deep, rich, regal. It was moving.

Asriel walked to where both daemons were and removed the case the leopard was pointing. He carefully placed the case on the table and began to untie the ribbon seal. Her golden monkey jumped onto the desk to get a better view while she edged closer, watching as Asriel pulled out a worn out journal from the case, handling it with a great degree of delicacy as he dropped it next to the case. Asriel’s voice came out as a hushed whisper as if his following statement was one of the gravest secrets kept from mankind. 

“This is Boris Rusakov’s journals of his expeditions in the North.”

Marisa was amazed, it might as well have been the best kept secret. She hadn’t even thought that Rusakov had written a journal.

“Why is it here? Shouldn’t it be in Muscovy?” Marisa queried, unable to quell her curiosity as she flicked through the journal with care. 

“As far as what I can gather from what Master Lovell lets on, this college had some special dealings with the Muscovite scientist himself and were able to salvage this before the Magisterium ransacked his estate.”

As Marisa moved through the journal, she saw detailed sketches of terrains, fully labeled atomic structures and chains of calculations broken apart by a few sentences on the expedition. But before Marisa could question why Asriel had brought her to this, she reached the back page which had a fold out map of New Denmark, then called Groenland. Detailed with longitudinal and latitudinal lines that were separated in the one degree, having the names of towns, mountains, ice glaciers. It was perfect. There was no place for a snide comment now as Marisa was truly grateful.

“My gratitude, Lord Belacqua.” Marisa offered as she took a seat at the desk, already rummaging in her briefcase for a pencil and tracing paper so she could make an exact replica.

“Asriel, as I’ve said before.”

She looked up at him. “Lord Asriel.” Marisa negotiated, trying to find an address that was both socially acceptable but met his desire for a bit of informality.

“That’ll do.” He sighed before his lips broke into a smirk. “For now.” She felt as he stared at her, his eyes boring into her concentrated countenance. “Please, Marisa, be careful with it.” She nodded in response, already lost doing her trace. Ozymandias had even decided to lie on the table next to the journal, knowing this was going to take a while. 

Marisa heard a low growl escape from Asriel’s daemon who now stood by the door, ready to leave. She secretly observed the interaction between the pair as Asriel gave the snow leopard a confused look, only for the daemon to roll her eyes and nudge her head at the door - her patience already wearing thin. Marisa guessed the daemon had resolved their work here was done, they had given her what she needed. But if Asriel’s heavy feet that dragged along towards the door was anything to go by, Asriel wasn’t pleased with leaving. _Who would be?_ Marisa joked to herself.

Still busying herself with her work, she didn’t bother to lift her head when Asriel called out for Marisa to catch the silver master key he tossed at her. Instead, she let Ozymandias jump over her focused form to catch the piece of metal before landing lightly on the desk. But just as Asriel was about to leave, Marisa spoke up again. 

“Lord Asriel, what am I to do if someone finds me here? Should I tell them that you lured a married woman into such a questionable room in such a questionable alleyway?”

Asriel grinned, enjoying the banter she maintained with him.

“I’ll leave that to your own discretion, Marisa. I’m sure you would be able to charm yourself out of any pickle you find yourself in.” 

She let out a soft, knowing chuckle. She surely could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're in for the slowest of burns, i'm sorry not sorry. If you have anything to say, comment below. Hope you're having a good day during these tough times and those you care for are safe. 
> 
> Next chapter, next Saturday.


	3. The Wives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marisa catches up with some 'friends' but Asriel's shadow follows close by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Saturday, another chapter. It's sweet and largely mindless - I just like world building.

The ‘Wives’, as Edward so often called them, sat along a round table in a cosy nook that had been reserved by the manager of Le Grand Plaisir for women only of their class . This already exclusive coffee shop by day and restaurant by night made sure to impart their due respects to the Magisterium, the Crown and those affiliated with the aforementioned organisations through means of stark favouritism just as every other store in Soho did. The practice was so common to the point that the wives of respected politicians, advisors and clergymen could be sure to find a reserved seat for themselves and their company at any reputable establishment in London. 

As Marisa glided towards the nook with Ozymandias following close by, she made a note of the faces she would be joining today. There was Jois Fantoche, the aged wife of the French Ambassador and the ringleader of this small group, with her raccoon daemon named Yanis sitting visibly from Marisa’s position on Jois’ lap under the table. Louise Rutherford, wife of the Lord Chancellor, had her squirrel daemon, Matthew, perched near the edge of the table. Penny Augustus, wife of the Bishop of London, seemed to be lost in her own world, stroking the slimy skin of John the Frog. Then at the end, by the seat that had been left for their last guest, was Sandra Reynolds, who had established herself as Marisa’s favourite be it only for her youth and naivety that only a foreigner could possess. Her husband, the Priest of St. Saviour’s Cathedral, had picked the poor thing up from Newfoundland after the death of his late wife last autumn. Sandra lived in this bubble of innocence that could lift anyone’s spirit especially with that potty mouth hers that her husband was yet to quell and as per Sandra’s pleads Marisa had decided to join this soiree in order to maintain their ‘friendship’ … of sorts. Sandra’s chameleon daemon, Steven, was nowhere to be seen as usual.

“Marisa, over here,” Penny waved eagerly, seemingly happy for the interruption Marisa brought to their conversation. Marisa smiled her greetings as she went to take her seat next to Sandra. Before she could, Ozymandias jumped onto the chair and used his tail to whack the dosing Steven off the chair who quickly changed colour from the wine of the seat to a sickly green. If Sandra had felt any pain she did not let it on as she smiled sweetly at Marisa once she was finally seated next to her. Steven, not too fond of the golden monkey, climbed up Sandra’s leg to hide safely in the depths of her skirt. Marisa observed that the table had been plated with cakes, pastries and a china teapot, all the typical items of an evening tea party. 

“We were just discussing you.” Penny continued while Sandra dutifully poured Marisa a cup of tea, as was her role being only nineteen and the youngest of the group. 

“Well not about you exactly,” Louise interjected, also happy for the interruption “but about an acquaintance of yours. Lord Belacqua.” Marisa masked her surprise with a sip of her tea but she could feel Ozymandias stiffen under the table which had not gone unnoticed under the keen eyes of Jois’ Yanis. Jois herself gave her a pointed look but remained silent. Marisa hadn’t known when her quite non-existent relationship with Asriel had become city gossip. 

“I was informing them that on my way back from my confession last week, I saw you and Lord Belacqua leaving the College of London together.” Sandra added in her idiosyncratic southern drawl, pleased to finally be knowledgeable on the social life of her favourite peer. Alas, it wasn’t city gossip. “You both seemed to be quite busy sweet talking about something so I thought not to disturb you with my greetings.” 

Marisa wouldn’t quite describe her discussion with Asriel as sweet talk but she kept that to herself. Instead, Marisa was about to chide Sandra on her silliness and inform her she could have greeted her even if she was with the King as greetings and introductions were the most efficient practices for making one more well-known in society but Mrs Fantoche stopped Marisa before those words could even be formed.

“But as we were previously discussing, it is quite disturbing that he would come down from that unruly place, Caledonia, only to spread his,” here Jois’ voice dropped an octave as to prevent the rest of the cafe catching wind of their gossip, “questionable research among the fine London scholars.” Her raccoon’s head made itself apparent above the table, attentively staring at his human and nodding in agreement. 

Ahhh Marisa thought, so this is what the ladies had been listening to. Jois’ long-running conspiracy on the corruption of Anglia by foreign ideas that challenged the sanctity of the King’s land and the Magisterium’s control. It was an old record Jois was more than happy to replay at every meeting.

“Marisa, if you had heard the ideas my son had spoken of when he had returned from the lecture hosted by this Lord Belacqua you would turn in your seat.” Jois’ voice dropped again, forcing Marisa to strain herself in order to hear Jois’ next words over the hubbub. “Such worldly, Lord forbid, heretical ideas can not become mainstream among the public.” John the Frog had started hopping about the table most likely in a bid to keep Penny awake in the midst of the topic she always found the most dull, the threat posed by Original Thinking. Timothy Augustus loved to bark about the supposed threat during service on Sabbath Day.

“Mrs Fantoche won’t tell us what was said but surely you know Marisa. Surely Lord Belacqua has told you his ideas.” Louise questioned with such conviction that it sounded more akin to a statement.

Why did everyone always assume that? First Edward. Now Louise.

“No.” Marisa smiled. “He has told me of no such ideas and from what Mrs Fantoche has said if he had, I would have told Mr Coulter immediately.” She wouldn’t have but interchanging between masks was Marisa’s forte and today, with the wives, pious and dutiful was the aim.

“You can’t possibly do that.” Sandra squealed, her eyes fixed on Marisa with a strong sense of betrayal as if Marisa had sworn to snitch on Sandra instead. 

“And why can’t she?” Jois’ rebuttal had been sharp enough for John to stop his antics mid-track and for both Penny and Louise to share a look of uncertainty, positive that whatever Sandra had coming next wouldn’t be a strong enough excuse to appease Jois.

“Because he’s a friend of Marisa.” 

Before Jois could unleash a tirade on why fidelity to the Magisterium and the King was of the utmost priority even if it required the betrayal of a friend, Marisa beat her to it hoping to diffuse the matter as to prevent a sour point, that could not be salvaged, being reached in the conversation. 

“Sandra, Mrs Fantoche is correct. Following The Great Chain of Beings put forth by the Authority, regardless of one’s loyalties to others, one must pay their adherence to the Magisterium and the King before anything else.” Marisa reached over to offer a reassuring hand to Jois. “And don’t fret Mrs Fantoche, last I heard Lord Belacqua is off to Oxford which would allow time for the London scholars to swiftly forget his ideas before it becomes common knowledge.” She coupled her reassurance with a smile that she hoped appeared genuine and not like a grimace. From Yanis’ nod of approval Marisa must have scored gold with her smile. Jois too nodded as she extricated her hand from under Marisa’s and with that the topic of Asriel had been concluded. Or so she wished.

“I hear word that Lord Belacqua’s daemon is a magnificent snow leopard.” Penny threw in, hoping to change the topic and Marisa had to restrain herself from throwing the woman a dirty look. Instead, she went to apply light pressure to Ozymandias’ tail, out of the eye line of everyone else, sending a subtle pain down her spine. Must the shadow of Asriel persist in all moments of her day. Bless her daemon, he took her action in stride, not even whimpering out of discomfort.

Sandra, all too happy to rejoin the conversation after her previous blunder, fueled the flame. “Yeah, it’s true. She’s quite the beauty. Her fur glimmered in the afternoon sunlight when I saw her.”

“Imagine what that says about a man such as Lord Belacqua. If only Mr Rutherford had such a daring daemon, maybe he would be more daring himself.” Louise admitted with an exasperated sigh, staring at Matthew who seemed to share her views.

“Well, what can you expect from a man with a subservient Rottweiler as a daemon.” Penny jabbed, clearly enjoying the turn the conversation had taken and no longer following the renewed movements of John the Frog. 

“Your husband is no better, what can Mr Augustus offer with a dragonfly daemon?” Louise retorted, desperately trying not to take offence on behalf of poor Mr Rutherford whose name was being dragged without his knowing. Her squirrel had used it’s bushy tail to throw John at the teapot and in response the frog wrapped its tongue around the daemon’s tail, pulling Matthew closer to the edge of the table.

As the duo continued to make personal jabs at the masculinity of the other’s husband through comparing the downfalls of the other’s spouse’s respective daemons, their own daemons fell onto the carpet, squabbling with each other to the amusement of Ozymandias. Meanwhile, Jois’ face became increasingly flustered as Yanis scratched at the rim of the table. The pair, Marisa observed, probably never heard such worldly chatter among women of such high class. But the final blow was dealt with Sandra’s following abrupt remark that by her face she was royally pleased with after spending the better half of a few minutes thinking it up.

“Well I’ll be damned. Guys just imagine, Lord Belacqua must be a beast in both the streets and the sheets.” 

The collective gasp among the ladies hung in the air until Jois had fully excused herself from the table, suddenly in need of the toilet with Yanis running ahead eager to leave the sinful party. The table then fell into a hysterical bundle of giggles that Marisa surprised herself by partaking in. 

“I doubt Jois will ever see eye to eye with you again, Sandra.” Marisa stated, being the first to regain her composure. 

“I don’t want her to.” Sandra replied once she had recovered as Steven finally felt bold enough to emerge from under the table in an ivory shade. “Her wrinkled face, crooked nose and saggy eyelids make her such an eyesore. It’s like she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down!” 

Another round of giggles ensued, causing a table quite distant from the nook to take notice.

“I challenge you to say that to her face.” Lousie dared, her eyes gleaming in unshed tears of joy.

“Gosh Sandra, have you ever thought of being an entertainer?” Penny asked in between choking fits of laughter.

“Pa wouldn’t have even considered it if I had brought it up, he just wanted me to get married and skedaddle. Even if it was with a yankee from Brytain.”

Marisa smirked as she felt Ozymandias lazily flicking his tail across her leg, making it clear to her how unimpressed he was at Sandra’s comedic attempts. Marisa agreed but knew it would be unwise to remark that Sandra wasn’t actually _ that _ funny, it was just that these sheltered women haven’t heard a good joke throughout their lifetime of conformity. “Then why are you still giggling?” Marisa could sense the monkey ask as he ceased the flicking of his tail.

“Marisa, you must introduce us to Lord Belacqua. You must. I want to see his daemon up close.” Sandra pleaded.

“How could I? And Jois wouldn’t approve.”

“I couldn’t give a flying mare’s ass about Jois. Please Marisa, you’re the smartest of us all. Surely you’ll be able to find a way.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Marisa promised, though she had no intention to keep to it. 

Louise’s squirrel daemon caught sight of Jois emerging from the toilet first, crawling up Louise’s seated frame to warn that Jois’ previously red face was now back to its neutral colour and that Yanis was now striding with renewed confidence.

“The censor is approaching.” Louise whispered.

Marisa watched as the ladies sobered up, now sporting disinterested faces as their daemons returned to being inactive, Steven now hiding within the arm of Sandra’s blouse. Marisa herself resumed sipping what was now a cold cup of tea as she allowed Jois to move the conversation towards a more ‘insightful’ discussion on the need to balance loyalty between the Magisterium and the King. The topic bored Marisa as it did everyone else at the table, daemon and human alike, excluding Yanis who occasionally added his own. But she entertained it regardless as any topic would be better than that of the infamous Lord Belacqua.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asriel returns in the flesh next Saturday. Stay safe and wash your hands folks.


	4. Say Adieu to Feminine Humility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being let down by Edward, Marisa turns to another man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're the type to listen to music whilst you read, I can imagine 'Elysian Fields' by Alex Baranowski working with this chapter. Enjoy.

Edward, as usual, had stood Marisa up again. Today was to be their long-awaited date to the National Theatre to watch the production ‘The Bishop of Notre Dame’ which had gotten a slew of raving reviews since its opening night. Even officials at the CCD could find no fault in the play, hailing it as a must-see depiction of unyielding faith in the face of adversity which was in great contrast to other plays which they had labelled as ‘questionable’ and ‘provocative’. 

However, as Marisa had sat at the dressing table, struggling with hair pins to hold her infuriatingly curly hair in a neat halo braid, Edward had joined her by her side, whispering his apologies into her ear. He and the other ministers had been called to the royal palace on urgent business, which she had discovered after forcing it out of him, regarding the King’s impending meeting with the cardinals at the Magisterium’s headquarters in Geneva. Her husband had promised her gifts on his return and reassured her that one of ‘The Wives’ would be more than happy to join her in his place.

That still left Marisa in front of her dressing table gazing at her reflection in the mirror, all dolled up but possessing too much pride to phone any of the wives. She would have tried calling Sandra but Marisa already knew she was unavailable, away with Priest Reynolds at a prophesying in Durham. All the other ladies, who were most likely free and would eagerly accept her invitation, displeased Marisa in one way or another. Too pious, too old, too dim-witted or just too hideous to be seen out with. Maybe she could go out by herself she pondered but at the thought of that Ozymandias, who laid next to the telephone on the dressing table, flinched, not being able to bear the shame of going out alone to a public event just as much as Marisa couldn’t. Maybe not then _. _

Finally refocusing her attention onto her reflection, Marisa saw that her look was incomplete. Though her eyelids were slightly shadowed with black and blue powder, her lips painted a deep wine, her cheeks blushed with rouge and her hair finally in place; her ears stood painfully bare. She opened up her jewelry box, removing a pair of delft blue earrings that perfectly matched her delft blue velvet gown. As she rummaged through the box for the matching necklace, her hand fell upon the silver master key Asriel had given her. Though she had been frequently using it over the past fortnight, each time she returned home she found herself childishly rushing to hide it amongst her jewelry as if it embodied a heinous crime she didn’t want Edward to know she had committed. Each time she did so, Ozymandias grunted in embarrassment, failing to understand why Marisa felt the need to hide it. 

Her daemon, having seen the silver key in her hand, had begun to push the telephone closer to her, making it clear as day what he wanted her to do.

Call Asriel.

It really was out of the question. Besides it being dubious of her to attend such an event with a man who was not her husband or part of her family, it also meant she would have to let go of her feminine humility and boldly call him. She barely knew the guy, having only met him twice and not even being familiar enough to know the name of his daemon. It just seemed too brash of an action to make.

But the more she looked at Ozymandias, the more viable an option it became and before she knew it she was dialing The Register.

A female voice answered on the other side of the line. “You are now patched through to The Register, where would you like me to connect you to?”

“Lord Belacqua’s residence, please.”

“Which residence would that be?”

Of course Asriel had several residences, he was a lord after all.

“His London one.”

At that the line ended and Marisa waited to hear the soft ringing that meant she had successfully been connected. Her monkey had now perked up on his hind legs, resting his right ear on the telephone’s speaker, giving her a confident grunt of reassurance. After two rings the line picked up.

“Yes, may I know who’s calling?” The girl’s voice was brazen and spoke with such a confident air that it sprung Marisa’s mind into a world of different conclusions.

“Mrs Coulter. Is Lord Belacqua home?”

At that Marisa heard the girl on the other side of the receiver drop the phone and loudly shout “Asriel!” from the top of her lungs. Ozymandias looked like he was ready to bark into the microphone at the rudeness this girl was displaying but before he could Asriel picked up the telephone.

“Marisa?” He seemed breathless, lightly panting into the speaker. The first conclusions Marisa had considered were now narrowing down to the few remaining plausible ones, none painting Asriel in a good light.

“Have I called at a bad time?” Her voice was cold, unknowingly angry at a man who owed her nothing but still she expected so much more of him … than this.

“Nope, not at all. I just ran down a couple of flights to get to the phone.”

Marisa internally reprimanded herself for making such hasty assessments. Of course there was a rational explanation. “I hope you didn’t exert yourself too much?” She was pleased again, humour lightening her voice.

Asriel let out one more wheeze before regaining his composure. “Nope, I’m good. Oh please, do excuse Eleanor’s manners. She’s new and not quite used to the formalities when on the line.”

“No mind.” 

Ozymandias started to tap the phone, silently asking Marisa to cut to the chase, and she, most reluctantly, forced the question out of her mouth. 

“Lord Asriel, are you free tonight?”

“I am.”

His voice held a questioning hint; Asriel overtly making the exchange more absurd than it already was as he had no qualms with uncomfortable conversations, especially not now when Marisa could audibly be heard shuffling in her seat. She felt her face flush in embarrassment, she was really going to ask this man out. With a clear of the throat, she continued.

“Would you care to join me to watch tonight’s production at the National Theatre?”

In that moment, she’d given Asriel what he’d wanted.

“Are you asking me out on a date,  _ Mrs Coulter _ ?” 

The upper hand.

He rested unnecessary emphasis on her address as if to emphasise how much he loved the inappropriate nature of her request. Marisa knew that if she could see Asriel’s face right now it would be plastered with that ridiculous grin he so often sported.

“Well, unfortunately my husband had to cancel due to very urgent business that couldn’t wait. So yes, Lord Asriel, I am asking you to _ accompany _ me?”

“And are there no female companions you could take with you?” He wouldn’t let it rest.

She heard a stiff scratching at the back of the telephone, Ozymandias had grown impatient with Asriel’s taunting. Marisa harshly shoved his hand off the telephone. The sound was irritating her.

“Should I take that as a no, Lord Asriel?”

The line was silent for a while and Marisa could tell Asriel reveled in keeping her guessing even though they both knew he was going to say yes and it came as no surprise when he did.

“I would love to join you, Marisa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Marisa and Asriel just flipping deserve each other.
> 
> I hope you're ready for next week Saturday. It's quite a mammoth read. BTW, thanks for reading this.
> 
> Edit: I was just thinking about this line from the show, "daemons bring such troublesome thoughts and feelings" and it brought me back to this chapter cause I realised I unconsciously wrote that it was Ozymandias that gave her the idea of calling Asriel. Guess Marisa was right all along.


	5. Dramatic Twists & Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go to the theatre they said. It'll be fun they said. Marisa would never listen to her subconscious again... or so she told herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm craving theatre so I'll live vicariously through this. Enjoy!

The sky was brushed a golden hue as the sun slowly began to set. A slight breeze blew the autumn leaves down the pavement, each one tumbling after the other in the peace of the evening. Asriel had surprised himself by arriving ten minutes early to the time Marisa had set, having spent the last few minutes in the lobby as he watched the remaining latecomers being ushered into their theatre seats by the ticketmaster. Whilst waiting for Marisa, Asriel had busied himself with checking in his coat but he could sense Stelmaria was getting increasingly anxious. Without speaking, the feline slipped through the sliding doors forcing Asriel to follow after her.

Not too long after, a town car rolled up in front of the theatre’s entrance and out stepped the most beautiful sight. Marisa walked out, with the help of her driver, in an open black fur coat that stopped at her waist exposing an ankle-length deep blue velvet dress. Her neck was adorned with a matching blue necklace and her hair having been pulled back into an elaborate braid showcased she had gone the extra mile to ensure her earrings also matched. In the darker light of the evening her golden monkey’s fur took a more mustard tone, perfectly complimenting the blue of Marisa’s outfit.

“Lord Asriel.” She bowed her head, but this time it did not reflect the custom of a gentry woman acknowledging a noble. No, this time it was a teasing gesture that permitted Asriel a short glimpse of the flesh that was exposed within the V-neck dip of her dress.

“Marisa.” He replied in greeting, offering his hand which she took, as he guided her into the theatre lobby. Unable to resist himself the chance of further physical contact, Asriel quickly helped remove Marisa’s coat before the attendant could see to it, leaving goosebumps where there once was fur as he left her with the ticketmaster in order to check in her coat as well.

“Has the production already started?” He heard Marisa ask, probably concerned by how empty the lobby was.

“No, madam. The Magisterial Censor should be giving his welcome speech to the audience right about now.” Asriel returned to Marisa’s side to see the ticketmaster examining the pair of tickets she had handed him. “The production will begin straight after, Mrs Coulter.” The poor man, bewitched by Marisa’s charm, gave her a warm smile as he looked up again. It was quite irksome the effect Marisa had on others by simply being herself. At that thought, Stelmaria let out a low hiss, thoroughly disappointed that Asriel was exhibiting territorial claims over a woman that wasn’t his. 

“This way.” The ticketmaster led the pair up a spiral staircase to a room labelled The Box. As the man opened the door, Asriel could see the small space had a food platter and wine bar off to the side which he was sure to put to use before this night was over. Near the edge, there was a row of four seats that looked out to the stage, above the groundlings and the circle seats. 

“I shall be leaving now. If you require anything please ring the bell to the right,” the ticketmaster informed, gesturing to the bell, “I hope you enjoy the production Mr and Mrs Coulter.”

Before Marisa had the chance to correct the man, Asriel thanked him for his help, tucking a tip of five pounds in his front pocket before the ticketmaster left the room.

An annoyed sigh escaped her lips. “You should have corrected him.”

She gracefully took a seat, with Ozymandias joining her on her lap. 

“Why? He’s practically clueless and it was fun regardless.”

“It was wrong.” Stelmaria rebutted, laying on the floor near Marisa.  _ She’s clearly chosen a side _ Asriel thought.

“Exactly.” Marisa added, gazing down at Stelmaria with an appreciative smirk.

Asriel rummaged through the wine bar, pleased to find a chilled bottle of 1962 Tokay. He poured out two glasses before sitting down next to Marisa. “For you,  _ Mrs Coulter _ .”

Marisa didn’t face him as she wordlessly took the glass he offered but he could tell she was enjoying this pretense just as much as him. 

* * *

The Bishop of Notre Dame, as Asriel expected, was not to his taste. The production stank of that ever oppressive air that blanketed the Earth from its roots in Geneva, suffocating Asriel in it’s ardently religious message that he was more than happy to escape from after the final curtain call. It was evident that the playwright had tried to construct Bishop Frollo as an altruistic servant of the Authority that had taken in his late brother’s unholy, disfigured, bastard child, Quasimodo (born from a Gyptian woman no less), in order to protect him from the sin that lurked the Parisian streets outside the walls of Notre Dame. But by the end of the musical number ‘Hellfire’, Asriel failed to see Frollo as anything more than a perverted man, so deeply infected by his lust for Esmeralda that the only form of release he found was through spearheading an onslaught off persecution against the Gyptians in Paris (which was paraded as the resolution to the narrative, finally riding Paris from the Gyptians who ‘brought sin’) as a means to rid himself of that very lust. 

Marisa did not take kindly to Asriel’s accusations that the playwright was a puppet of Geneva, stating she found it implausible that the play was written in order to rally up support in aid of the passage of the ‘Bill against Non-Believers’ which had spurred up public controversy over the harsher treatment against Gyptians that it wished to enact. 

“Of course a man like  _ you _ would be partial towards Gyptians.” Marisa met his eyes, hers coolly calculating him. 

“Is there a problem?” He questioned, a smirk breaking across his face as he watched her features - fascinated by the flames of passion she strived to restrain under an icy gaze. Despite her attempts at following the masses and being a dutiful follower of Geneva, Asriel was certain that Marisa’s heart didn’t truly lie with the Church as she liked to believe.

“I find that it’s best not to associate oneself with sin.”

Her face was set as she stared back at him; unfazed by their noses being inches apart and sharing the same air. Walls of faithfulness, duty and humility that she falsely hid behind still stood upright and Asriel had a yearning hunger to tear them down and see the woman who stood behind. He leaned in close, his breath tickling her neck. “I’m sure if the world was run by sin and not by the faux holiness enforced by Geneva, you would embrace it’s devilish nature without a second thought.”

The previously docile monkey stood up erect on Marisa’s lap, fixing Marisa with determined eyes as if ready to spring into an attack at the insult. Asriel watched as she gently brought her fingers to scratch the monkey’s head, slowly pushing him down with controlled effort back into a ball of fur resting on her lap again. 

“That’s where you’re wrong my lord. My complete loyalty will always lie at the heart of The Authority’s presence. It will always lie in Geneva with the Magisterium.” Her face had contorted into a sardonic smile that betrayed the innocence she desperately wished to portray. Her eyes a more deeper, lustful blue which made it starkly clear that what Marisa sought in Geneva wasn’t undying adherence to the Authority. It was the insurmountable power that her complete obedience to the Magisterium would be rewarded with that forced Marisa to spew these lies of faithfulness. It was this very power-hungry will for deceit that rendered her the most beautiful woman Asriel had ever seen, fueling his ever growing desire to have her as his own.

Without thinking, in the dim of the room so aptly named The Box, Asriel laid a passionate kiss on her neck. He felt her breathing quicken as he snaked his right arm around her front, mistakenly brushing the golden fur of her daemon which undoubtedly sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. But before he could venture further Marisa abruptly stood up, her monkey tumbling to the floor beside Stelmaria. His daemon looked at the monkey, conflicted between comforting the primate and standing stoically still. Undecided, by default, she remained still - empathetically watching the daemon recover from the fall.

“We should be leaving, Lord Belacqua.” Marisa started, straightening out any creases in her dress. Asriel inwardly groaned at her address, her walls were up again and higher this time. “The production has long since been over.”

Without a moment's hesitation she swiftly slid out the door, her golden monkey quickly following after her, leaving Asriel alone with a visibly disappointed Stelmaria.

“Have you lost your mind?” she hissed as her sharp green eyes followed Asriel as he went to pour himself another glass of Tokay, downing it in one go. “She’s a married woman.”

“And when has that ever stopped us, hm?” he countered.

“Asriel,” she drew his name out into another warning hiss “there’s a world of difference between the wife of a beekeeper and the wife of a Crown Minister.”

“I don’t think there is.”

Stelmaria was completely in her element, a predator, as she approached Asriel, her claws digging into the floor as to bar her from pouncing on him. “Shall I spell it out for you? Commoner. No one knows, no one cares. High class woman. Takes one whisper to become a weapon in the wrong hands.” She paused at his feet, contemplating her next move, before slamming her front paws onto his toes and using the force as momentum to stand on her hind legs, glowing eyes boring into his as her movement knocked the glass out of his hand. “Stop this Asriel, before it gets out of hand.” She dropped to all fours and stalked through the door left open by the golden monkey.

“Can’t we just agree to disagree, Stel?” Asriel called out after her.

* * *

Marisa had hoped to escape to her town car before Asriel caught up but the now packed atmosphere of the lobby put paid to that. At the base of the stairs, was a cue of people eagerly waiting to check out their belongings from the cloakroom and with a quick survey of her body Marisa remembered that she too had handed in her coat. Well, Asriel had, to be precise.

Having actually reasoned to leave her coat behind and have a manservant fetch it tomorrow, Marisa attempted to squeeze through the crowd, her daemon clutched safely in her arms. 

“Marisa?!” The voice that broke through the crowd was light and feminine, so distinctively that of Louise Rutherford. Not paying it any mind, Marisa forged further through the cluster.

“Hey. Marisa, wait up!” It seemed Penny Augustus was also here. Could the night get any worse?

“Mrs Coulter! Mrs Coulter, your coat is still checked in!” She’d spoken too soon. The ticketmaster was now also on her case, he must have spotted her as she came down the staircase. Ozymandias tightly gripped Marisa’s wrist, warning her that if she tried to go any further she was sure to cause a scene. And he was right. With a clumsy smile plastered on her face, she spun round to face the ticketmaster as he waded towards her. 

“It seems you are right. How forgetful of me!” She let out a soft chuckle and watched as the young man’s face flushed an embarrassing red.

“I’ll go fetch it for you.” Marisa watched as the ticketmaster battled through the crowd towards the cloakroom as the hero he so wanted to be. She smirked despite herself. These chivalrous acts she usually found herself at the receiving end of were always quite charming and she lived for them. She internally sighed in defeat as both Penny and Louise joined her; John the Frog sat contentedly on Penny’s head while Matthew rested on Louise’s right shoulder, his tail curling around her neck. The pairs of them made for a ridiculous sight.

“I never knew you were one for theatre, Marisa.” Louise chirped.

The ordeal of socialising greatly strained Marisa but she effortlessly matched Louise’s zeal. “I thought I might as well give it a whirl since Edward had gone out of his way to buy Box tickets to tonight's production.”

“Oh, that’s why we didn’t see you! You see we were in the circle seats.” Penny said as she tried to make up for her feelings of inadequacy in the face of Marisa’s exclusive seats. Undoubtedly, these women had footed the bill for their own seats with their husbands nowhere to be seen.

“Is Minister Coulter nearby?” Louise queried, looking around.

“Oh, he didn’t attend-” Marisa started only to be interrupted by Louise’s shrill voice.

“You came here all alone!” She looked all shades of embarrassed and sympathetic for Marisa, as if a woman being alone at a social function was the worst imaginable thing. It was, to be honest, and that’s why Marisa had made sure to...

“No-” Marisa attempted to correct only to be cut off again by Penny this time who had her head turned in the direction John the Frog was facing.

“Is that Lord Belacqua?” she whispered disbelievingly.

Speak of the Devil.

Marisa and Louise both followed her line of view, to see the man in question descending a flight of stairs with his snow leopard in tow.

“Oh yes, it must be! That’s the magnificent daemon Sandra spoke so highly of!” Louise confirmed. “And she and Lord Belacqua are both coming this way.” The duo turned to each other, squealing in excitement.

Ozymandias was shuffling anxiously in Marisa’s arm, uncomfortable under the glare that the snow leopard cast on him just as much as Marisa could not bear the look that Asriel fixed her with. It spoke of unfinished business, one which Marisa longed to know where it concluded but was fretful that it would end with irreversible consequences. Unable to leave until the ticketmaster returned with her coat, Marisa jumped the gun by steering the conversation in her direction once Asriel had come close enough to hear her voice over the commotion in the lobby.

“Lord Belacqua, I would like to introduce Mrs Louise Rutherford and Mrs Penny Augustus. You already know Lord Belacqua.”

“Greetings, my lord.” the pair said, simultaneously bowing their heads out of respect with uncanny synchronicity.

“Evening. Mrs Coulter failed to tell me she had such agreeable friends.” It was clear Asriel had turned up the charm, gracing the ladies with a smooth smirk that had the two blushing. Their daemons peered cautiously at the snow leopard from their vantage point, unsure whether to go down and greet her or to stay where they were. But their fears were quenched when they saw Ozymandias jump to the ground and circle the feline with an air of familiarity, soon after following his suit.

“You flatter us, Lord Belacqua. I’m sure our dear friend, Mrs Reynolds, would be very disappointed not to be here right now.” Louise was gazing into Asriel’s blue orbs, hopelessly enthralled by his rugged beauty that today was neatly contained in an evening suit.

“Oh, there are even more beautiful ladies?” Asriel let out with a questioning smile, playing on their quite smitten hearts. Louise and Penny bursted into a fit of giggles. All the while, Marisa could feel her easy smile becoming more strained, annoyed by both the attention Asriel was showering these dimwits with and annoyed that she cared so much.

“There’s plenty of wonderful ladies in London,” Louise was most positively flirting, “one sure to catch your eyes if you stay here long enough.” and Marisa most positively wanted to cackle unabashedly at the very idea of Louise thinking she could out-charm her. If anyone could get Asriel, it was she alone. But, instead of laughing, Marisa was struck by the intensity of Asriel’s gaze as he turned, at Louise’s words, to look at her, the fires of passion burning brightly across his face to the point that it incited a wave of sensual discomfort across her. 

Shameless, Asriel was. No doubt, the entire company had seen that look.

“I’m sure you’re quite correct, Mrs Rutherford.” He reassured in a low growl, all the while maintaining eye contact with Marisa.

And, no doubt, they’d heard the carnal desire in his voice. Utterly shameless. But she couldn’t break away from his eyes.

“Your coat, Mrs Coulter.” 

Reprieve! Marisa had been so entranced that the ticketmaster’s return had gone unnoticed until now, his voice snapping her out of her daze as she readily accepted the two coats he offered.

“I also thought it’d be best to bring Mr Coulter’s coat too.” the ticketmaster explained.

“I thought you said Mr Coulter did not join you today?” Penny pointed out, too quick for her own good.

There was an awkward beat where the ticketmaster turned to face Asriel, confirming to himself that the man indeed was who he thought to be Mr Coulter; whilst Penny and Louise turned to face each other with shared dawning realisations. However, Marisa interjected before the ticketmaster could falsely correct Penny. 

“You’re right, Mr Coulter is not in attendance.” Marisa handed Asriel his coat, silently asking him with a brief look to let her deal with this. “But as I arrived in the lobby I ran into Lord Belacqua who invited me to join him since we had both come alone. Not wanting to waste the luxury tickets Edward had gotten me, I convinced Lord Belacqua to accompany me upstairs since we’d both have a better view.” She then turned to the ticketmaster who seemed to also have a dawning realisation on the nature of the situation. “I always thought even low-skilled jobs required at least some common sense and awareness but it seems that the oblivious ticketmaster here has made a poor assumption on his part, isn’t that right?” One could not be sure if it was the pointed look Marisa gave the ticketmaster or if it was the tight sensation around the man’s ankle as Ozymandias discreetly wrapped his tail around it, but the man meekly nodded in acceptance that he would have to admit to the innocent blunder he had just made. Lest he wanted the beautiful woman, who had just contorted from angel to fiend before his very eyes, to send a very scathing report to his manager.

Stuttering, he apologised. “Yes, how foolish of me. I meant to say I had brought Lord Belacqua’s coat. Forgive me.” His eyes truly seemed to beg for forgiveness from Marisa and for the first time she saw his daemon, an equally meek white mouse that poked its head out of the man’s front pocket, seemingly irritated that his human had been made a fool of. “I beg your pardon.” The ticketmaster excused himself, leaving Asriel to charm the situation back to where it once was.

“Ladies... please excuse us. You’ve been lovely,” he shrugged on his coat before helping Marisa into hers, “but I can see both mine and Mrs Coulter’s rides outside.” He said this in a manner that left no room for negotiation, something Marisa was grateful for as she was more eager now, than ever, to leave.

“Of course, Lord Belacqua. We would not keep you unnecessarily.” Louise probably overdid it with her next bow and Penny was probably too enthusiastic in wishing Asriel a safe journey home but regardless Marisa was glad to be met with the fresh air as she and Asriel exited the theatre. Mr Hubert had opened the town car door already but Asriel seized her hand, stopping her before she could enter.

“I think you still have something of mine under your possession.” he whispered against her ear.

Marisa couldn’t help the befuddled face she made, clueless as to what he was referring too. But she was a smart woman and within a couple of seconds, it dawned on her.

“If you are talking about the key, I can guarantee you it’s in safe hands.” She had no intentions of letting go of that gem until she had fully utilised the Inventory Room which had proved invaluable to her research. 

“Well…” He brought her hand to his mouth to lay a soft kiss on it. “I guess all‘s well as long as you don’t lose it.” he finished against her fingers. He was getting too bold and too familiar. Wary that Louise and Penny were still looking at them through the window, Marisa quickly extricated her hand. She was going to have to gaslight them into doubt the next time she saw them.

“I won’t.” she reassured, following her daemon into the car.

“Until next time then.” Asriel was resting on the car door, a characteristic smirk plastered across his face.

“I highly doubt there will be a next time.” She was cautious of how their  _ friendship  _ was daring near a fine line she was mindful not to cross - even though her heart willed her to - and by the frequent worried glances Asriel’s daemon gave her, the snow leopard felt it too.

“Don’t fret, Marisa. There’s always a next time.” 

With a hungry lick of his lips, he shut her car door, tormenting her with the image of his tongue lubricating full lips the entire ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO, the people who have seen that gif understand Marisa’s (and my) pain. Right now, we’re just stoking the flame. There’s an extra tidbit next (not entirely related to the fic) that you can read or else, hasta sabado!


	6. XTRA: The Hunchback of Notre Dame re-thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the play goes in Lyra's world and it's significance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a further insight into the previous chapter and why I think the gyptians are so far removed from society (again i haven’t read the books so there might be a truth to the matter that I’m not privy to). This chapter doesn’t add to the plot so you are free to skip it.

Claude Frollo is the hero/bishop in The Bishop of Notre Dame - a political play - and the narrative of the play starts with his brother being tempted by a gyptian woman who gave birth to an ‘unholy’ child, Quasimodo. The brother and gyptian mysteriously die afterwards and Frollo is left to take care of the child. He believes the child should atone for the sins of his father in order to correct his physical impairment and hence has him raised in a monastery. Quasimodo grows up to be a good servant of The Authority until he is tempted by the gyptian woman, Esmeralda. The bishop not wanting his nephew, who he has grown fond of, to fall into the same sin as his father enlist the people of Paris to purge the town of gyptians in a sermon. While the purge ensues, Esmeralda takes refuge in Notre Dame with the aid of Quasimodo, who has fallen to her charms, and the bishop finds them in the crypt of the cathedral. Frollo is first infuriated that Quasimodo would insult the sanctity of the place which is used as a resting place for the priests that have died. But Quasimodo pleads the innocence of Esmeralda who, he says, wants to give her life to the Magisterium. The pair deceive the bishop as both Quasimodo and Esmeralda kill Frollo. The people of Paris then storm into the crypt and see what the murderers have done. At the end of the play, the playwright comes on stage and warns the audience of the danger of sin (especially lust and desire which had been the downfall of both Quasimodo and Frollo’s brother but as evident in ‘Hellfire’ single, the bishop had ‘successfully’ fought those feelings). The playwright highlights that Bishop Frollo died a martyr to the cause of The Authority, which is purity in life and death, demonstrated by his brotherly love that led him to cater for the disabled child and protect him from sin by sheltering him in the monastery. Also, the bishop’s desire to bring people to The Authority which had caused him to trust Esmeralda. The playwright goes on to emphasise the greater evil lurking the streets (re: the gyptians) and urges the audience to sign the petition which should aid the passage of the ‘Bill against Non-Believers’ through the CCD. 

Bill against Non-Believers was passed after the Great Flood which was seen as The Authority's judgement on Anglia hence meaning that the gyptians could no longer own land or live among the ‘saved’. Therefore, the gyptians were relegated to motor vehicles and boats as their new home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m pretty sure the beginning of the theatre version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame is similar to what I wrote so that’s where I got my inspiration from.


	7. Inveigle 1.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> verb: persuade (someone) to do something by means of deception or flattery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter. I imagine Edward as not being a bad husband or neither the best, just a man of his time ... and most positively, not a match for Marisa.
> 
> Enjoy.

Marisa had hijacked Edward’s study, seeking a change in environment; her bedroom being a comfortable place to get work done but often had her too relaxed and before she knew it she found herself dozing off on her headboard. The stiff furnishing in Edward’s study provided no soft edge to lay one's head and hence no place to rest - just what Marisa needed. Ozymandias was taking laps around the polished wooden desk, unable to share Marisa’s passion for mathematical calculations and proofs, stopping every so often to see whether she had finished her work. Each time he was disappointed as he watched her pen still furiously scribbling away and each time he was left with no choice but to return to his lap.

“Stop that.” Marisa didn’t avert her eyes from the page she was working on. “You’re distracting me.”

The monkey dutifully stopped, now stood in front of the desk unsure of what to do. He remained like that for quite a while, afraid to move in case he annoyed Marisa again, but was finally given a task once both he and Marisa heard Edward arrive downstairs. 

“Lock the door, would you.” 

It was a command. Akin to similar sentences Marisa used when addressing him, with the exception of the equally common reprimand. Despite her harsh tone, the daemon was glad to be allowed to move again, sprinting to the door and locking it with minimal difficulty. His settling as a primate was the wisest decision he had made if he said so himself; it allowed him to be of greater help to Marisa which was always pleasing. He stared, mesmerised by the gift of his hands, as tactile as that of a human’s but not as great as his toes which proved to be even more advanced. A sound from outside broke him from his trance. The golden monkey ears twitched as he heard Edward ascend up the stairs and cross the hallway towards the study. He looked back at Marisa and saw that she was still consumed in her work. It was either he disrupted her flow by calling her attention to Edward’s imminent arrival or he just unlocked the door without consulting her. Deciding on the latter, as it was likely what Marisa would tell him to do anyways, Ozymandias unlocked the door just in time as Edward entered the room. Virginia trailed in after him, giving the monkey a cursory look whilst she advanced further into the room. 

“Marisa.” Edward greeted, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek to draw her attention and if the gesture had startled Marisa she didn’t let it on. But a quick glance at Ozymandias made it clear to the daemon that she hadn’t realised Edward had entered the study and didn’t take kindly to her daemon operating without her consul. 

"Edward," she replied in kind.

Knowing it was what was expected of him, Ozymandias went to join Virginia by her side. The problem Ozymandias found with Virginia was that he had no means of showing any physical affection for her, having suffered cuts from her numerous spines in his previous valiant attempts. Virginia often used to burrow her face into his golden fur but the sensation had been painful and when Ozymandias had signified to her that her gesture felt more like a blow to the rib than a loving gesture, Virginia had taken offence and had never tried to rectify the gesture. Hence, Ozymandias always found himself awkwardly sitting next to her, the atmosphere persistently tense and uncomfortable.

“A letter has arrived for you.” Edward informed, now standing behind Marisa’s seat.

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t opened it.” Ozymandias cocked his head at that as he watched Edward drop the letter on Marisa’s papers. This was strange. Edward usually made a habit of reading Marisa’s mail, as a means of enforcing his position as the man of the house ensuring no business occurred without his knowing. “I felt you’d want to open this one yourself,” Edward continued, walking around the desk to take a seat across from Marisa, “considering it’s from the  _ prestigious _ Jordan College.”

Ozymandias felt as Marisa’s heart quickened while she flicked the college seal and opened the letter, scanning over it’s contents within seconds. 

“It’s from the Master at Jordan. He wants me to attend a lecture being held by Lord Belacqua next week.”

Unable to control himself, the golden monkey hurried to the table, landing on its surface after a single graceful jump. Sure enough, as he peered at the letter, it was an invite to Asriel’s lecture. However, the letter had been signed off by the man himself which meant Marisa had lied about the invite being from the Master, most likely hoping to downplay how well she had come to know Asriel. The jealous and insecure heart they’d come to know Edward carried would be unable to handle such information.

“Well that’s great news, darling. You should go.” Edward was evidently all ears to anything that would rid him of Marisa’s company for a few days, not out of any malice or ill-intent but just out of the pure desire to have some air to breathe alone. They both needed it.

“I’m not so sure,” the golden monkey looked at Marisa, disbelieving what she had just said, “there’s sure to be all manner of scholars and officials in attendance. Wouldn’t it not be odd for a young woman to be among them?”

“Nonsense, Marisa.” Edward met Marisa with a reassuring smile. “The Master has invited you himself, surely he must think you fit somehow into this greater picture.”

Still, she would not be placated. She leaned forward, her arms resting on her papers in a childish huff. No doubt a covert way to prevent Edward’s prying eyes from reading them. “What about when they ask me to engage in their wise discussions? What would I do if I have nothing intellectually riveting to offer, what would I do then?” Ozymandias, like all other people and daemons alike, had a hard time discerning when Marisa was being sincere and when she was making a play. Surely she wouldn’t rob them of an exciting opportunity to see the handsome Lord Asriel and his equally magnificent daemon whose fur Ozymandias had vivid dreams of stroking. 

Edward let out a tired sigh, quite clearly facing the same dilemma as Marisa’s daemon, futilely trying to workout what Marisa was up to. “How about you leave a few days earlier? Get your sea legs in Oxford, maybe visit a few of your peers at St. Sophia’s before you attend the lecture?”

“That might work.” Marisa offered in a faux meek voice that went over her daemon’s head and landed squarely on her target, her husband. So it was a play, Ozymandias thought, she was seeking to elongate what would have been a day visit into a lengthy trip. He scanned the room to find Virginia looking thoroughly irritated by Edward’s dopiness and Marisa’s cunning mind that always found a way to get Edward to submit to her desires all the while making him believe it was his idea. These were the triumphant moments Ozymandias lived for.

“Might work?” Edward questioned.

“Will work.” Marisa reached over the desk to grab Edward’s face and pulled him into a passionate kiss, grateful to the Authority that he had made the hearts of men so weak to the charms of women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, until next Saturday.


	8. The Angel and the Fool Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asriel's lecture faces a few hiccups. Nothing he can't handle though. Or so he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out I should probably make clear that though I haven’t read the books, I pretty much have read every HDM wiki page. So I know some things about the Lyra’s world but my application of that knowledge may be way off the mark.  
> Anyhow I’ve worked out there’s about a hundred of you that keep coming back and I just wanted to say thank you - it means a lot. Enjoy!
> 
> P.S: The title is the name of a song by Broken Bells that really works for this chapter and the one to come (I feel like no one cares about song recommendations but I can't help myself).

Parlons plutôt de moi | Let’s talk about me

Faisons de moi notre passion | Make me our passion

Parle-moi de moi | Tell me about me

Faisons de moi notre passion | Make me our passion

-

Moi moi: Albin de la Simone and Emiliana Torrini

* * *

Today’s lecture was unlike any lecture that had been hosted at Jordan College in the last few years. Asriel could see that and so could all the other male scholars in the Retiring room. Front and centre sat a woman donning an impressive white fur coat, that she apparently was not going to remove, adding a much needed hint of luxury to the dull room that was frequently occupied by equally dull men. Ever since Dr Carne had fallen out with the Madam of St Sophia’s over an investigation into the practice of trepanning up North, the Jordan lectures have continually been starved of the female presence. But today marked the end of that status quo and though Asriel could sense the scholars were itching to remark on it, dying to engage with this foreign yet welcomed guest, the scholars dared not avert their attention from his lecture lest they missed out on something important as the most humiliating thing at Jordan was to ask for clarification. Hence, besides the clacking of typewriter keys, Asriel’s voice was the only thing to be heard in the room.

“From early scholastic accounts we can route back the practice of intercision to the pre-Divinity era in both Tartary and Africa.” 

At this Asriel relished in seeing the Magisterial Censor, who was seated at the back of the room, tremble in revulsion at the idea of a time when Geneva didn’t have absolute control over the globe. 

“Tearing,” Asriel continued, “which requires a human to be held in place while their daemon was pulled an unimaginable distance from them until the connection was quite literally torn, was concluded by Dr. P.J. Simpson as the reason for the phenomenon of the Zombis in African tribes.” Asriel paused for effect, taking a quick glance at Stelmaria who usually at this point in his lecture had a wicked gleam in her emerald eyes as she watched the daemons in the room edge closer to their humans while Asriel explained the painful process of intercision. But today the gleam was not there, instead the snow leopard had furrowed her brows in irritation at the golden monkey, who remained the same distance away from Marisa as he had been at the beginning of the lecture.The daemon must of being trying hard to suppress his fears of being separated from his human but one look at Marisa’s unfazed expression had Asriel questioning his reasoning. 

Clearing his throat, he continued. “Now undoubtedly, the outdated practice of Tearing has no place in our modern society but what if I proposed a new method of intercision? One that could be carried out with a swiftness that mitigates the pain of the ordeal.”

Dr Carne was now throwing worried looks at the back of the room, afraid that Asriel had already gone too far with his lecture but it seemed that the Magisterial Censor was genuinely intrigued by what he was hearing and avidly taking notes which was a first.

“And how do you propose we do this Lord Asriel?” asked one of the scholars by the coffee table, clearly disbelieving of an updated method of intercision, “How do you propose we cut something as intangible as the connection between a man and his daemon, a man and his soul?”

“But that’s just it, what if the connection isn’t as intangible as we are led to believe? Evidently by the success of Tearing, the link between human and daemon does have an elastic limit which when surpassed it snaps like an elastic band pulled past its own limit. There must be a thread-like entity binding us to our daemons and with that in mind I came to think how we could cut this thread. The only thing known to cleanly cut is metal. So from there I designed an experiment, my daemon and I were to stand as far as humanly bearable in order to already stretch this delicate thread. Then I would slowly descend a 10 x 10 x 2 piece of metal between us from a height of 1.5 metres to the ground, using Stelmaria’s judgement to discern whether I should continue the full length of the descent. ”

The scholars, just like what had happened time and time before at previous colleges, had begun to lean into the lecture, now fully convinced that Asriel knew what he was on about, having been willing to risk his own humanity to test his theory, and was yet again going to unveil another world-shattering finding.

“After testing an array of metals, transition metals and their alloys, I finally came across the manganese-titanium alloy which was the only piece of metal which Stelmaria strongly cautioned me in not continuing with. She had warned - ”

“Wait, wait, wait. You didn’t continue with it?” It was the vocal scholar from before, who was now facing disgruntled moans from others in the room, unhappy (just as much as Asriel) at the interruption.

“No.” Asriel responded coolly.

“Then how can we be sure that what you suggest is valid? For all we know, this manganese-titanium alloy might be as safe as all the other metals?”

A tense pause ensued, all the more punctuated by the cease in clacking typewriter keys as the scribe in the room had abruptly stopped his transcript to look between Lord Asriel and the bold scholar.

“Well Dr. Peterson would you like to come upfront as a volunteer to see it through?” Asriel stormed towards the coffee table where he opened his briefcase that lay there to reveal a shiny 10 x 10 x 2 piece of metal. The scholar’s mouse lemur cowered behind him at the sight of the alloy just as the scholar took a deep gulp, regretting ever speaking out. 

“I took the liberty of carrying the alloy with me just in case anyone was bold enough to actually volunteer to be intercised.” Stelmaria now rested on the coffee table, joining Asriel to stare at the scholar maniacally. The atmosphere was thick with their scientific glee at finally being able to put a case study to their theory and both equally hungry to see it come at the cost of someone who so ardently resisted their findings. “Dr Peterson,” Asriel breathed, his voice low and menacing, “it would be an honour to finally _ continue with it _ and see the intercision process through with my own very eyes.” 

To the benefit of everyone, the moment was broken by a stifled chuckle from the front, which could have only come from Marisa, pulling Asriel from his deranged state. 

“I take that as a no, Dr. Peterson. Why is that such a shame.”

He returned to the front with Stelmaria, now unconsciously holding the piece of metal in a threatening gesture, silencing any further inquiries as he picked up from where he left. A few seconds after Asriel began speaking again, the clacking of keys resumed.

“Stelmaria had warned that at a height of 0.7 metres there was an increase in pressure and heat as the metal descended, as if it was acting like an insulator to whatever connection that lay between us. Then I attempted the procedure again, this time attaching a simple anbaric circuit to the alloy to see if it would alter the sensation in any way, and at a height of 1.3 metres Stelmaria voiced that she was feeling an even greater intensity of heat, pressure and, this time, pain than what she felt using the bare alloy at 0.7 metres. Gentlemen and _ lady _ ,” Asriel offered a quick grin to Marisa which she returned in kind, “there is not a shadow of doubt in my mind that this alloy holds the key to the future of intercision and I implore you to aid me in finding an ethical way in testing this theory out so we can unlock the possibilities of a clean intercision and any benefits that may come of it. ”

The scholars now partook in that intrinsically scholastic behaviour where they nodded their heads in agreement and looked towards their peers to see if they were doing the same. It was a unanimous feeling, Asriel was right again and the scholars felt compelled to support him.

“Lord Belacqua, I can’t help but point out that there is no ethical way to intercise.” 

It wasn’t Dr. Peterson this time. No, this time it was Marisa, who like most of the other scholars had been silent for the length of the lecture but now demanded the attention of the room with an unexpected amount of authority. “Even with mere distance between human and daemon,” she continued, “there is a sharp sense of extreme anguish, pain and longing. We can only fear the sensation when one has been completely cut off and that fear alone makes this unethical.”

A hum of ‘Hear, Hear’ ensued in the room which irked Asriel, he didn’t mind being challenged but he only enjoyed it when he knew that he would come out on top. But unlike with Dr. Peterson, Asriel was unsure whether that was possible with Marisa. She was unlike other women and definitely no man held a candle to her ingenuity. Nonetheless, he gave it a shot.

“Why don’t we liken the practice of intercision to the circumcision of boys and the elective castration of priestly men that is still practiced under the Magisterium today? These practices when done cleanly and with pure intentions bring individuals closer to the grace of the Authority, shedding a new holy light on the meaning of their lives. Surely if clean intercison is to be the same, it would offer such equally promising benefits that it can be deemed as ethical.” It was not Asriel’s style to spew out such reverent reasonings but right now it seemed like the only way to silence Marisa’s point on the ethics of the matter.

“But it’s not the same, is it?” she looked at him with this triumphant smile, a slight tinge of humour in her voice, and it was clear that Marisa had laid a trap, knowing he was going to fall in and was now happy to devour him whole. “Lord Belacqua, I fear you only say this to make the idea of ‘clean intercision’ more palatable for the scholars in the room. But the Zombis have been described in many primary accounts as soulless humans, knowing no meaning to life, unable to craft a narrative and returning to the most primitive of behaviours as they now lack creativity and ambition. How could irreversibly transforming a human into such an empty creature ever be seen as ethical not only in the eyes of the public but, most importantly, in the eyes of the Authority?” 

Asriel could feel Marisa’s blue eyes bore into him as she awaited an answer. The casual way she stroked the head of her golden monkey, who had neared her, a teasing gesture asking him whether he was ready to wave a white flag and surrender. Would she even let it go if he did? He could feel as his mouth ran dry, seconds passed and he was still no closer to finding a suitable answer. But before he could piss his pants, Asriel thanked his luck for the decisive conclusion (he never thought he would say this) offered by the Magisterial Censor.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t know your name?”

“Mrs Coulter.” Marisa replied sweetly, turning to face him.

“Well Mrs Coulter, you’re right. As it stands this proposed intercision isn’t ethical.” With this, Marisa turned back around to sneer at Asriel’s defeated face.

“But maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Marisa’s face dropped. She turned around to face the Censor as he continued. “I’m very sure the Magisterium would be interested in seeking these holy possibilities Asriel promises, so maybe for now this new intercision process can be used as a punishment for those who are a nuisance to society. Once it has been perfected, we will then be ready to share its wonders with the righteous world.” The Censor’s crow cawed in approval and that was that.

* * *

Asriel was pleased that the previous hiccup in his lecture had not diminished interest amongst the scholars in his work; if anything the scholars, now in lively conversation in groups throughout the hallway, were all too eager to ruminate over the possibilities of a clean intercision. Many of them now weighed the potential pros with the already evidenced cons to discern whether they wished to invest the college’s resources into the theory. Even the Magisterial Censor had pulled Asriel to the side to inform him that he intended to send a first class telegram to the experimental theologians in Geneva as he was quite certain that they would be deeply interested in further exploring and, more importantly, applying his findings. 

However, even in the midst of this overwhelming environment of accolades and peaked interest, Asriel could not ignore the feeling that there was a missing puzzle to his work that he was yet to discover and this bothered him. In his mind, he could feel a gaping hole of knowledge that would help shed new light on the possibilities of a clean intercision. For some reason, he felt that this new intercision process was the key to a door that was beyond what he could currently imagine. Something far past the safe conjectures the scholars were currently making and into the field of dangerously heretical theories that Asriel was more than happy to delve into if it would help end this nagging feeling in his brain.

Stelmaria gently pulled Asriel out of his wild thoughts as he watched her slowly approach the golden monkey. The daemon sat casually besides a Groenland wolf, while Marisa was animatedly having a discussion with the only Skraeling scholar at Jordan. Asriel couldn’t help but frown as he approached the pair; the two talked with a familiarity that would make no sense for people who had just met. It proved bothersome when he heard Marisa laugh at one of the Skraeling's jokes, the scholar smiling endearingly at her as she laughed. 

“Looks like you guys are having a swell time?” It seemed that whatever animosity was in Asriel’s voice towards the scholar came off as his usual gruffness as the man was none the wiser, meeting Asriel with a cheery smile. 

“I was just telling Mrs Coulter of my last visit to my family up North.” How charming, Asriel thought, they weren’t even discussing the lecture. He was sure whatever he had said in the Retiring room was far in the recess of this man’s mind as Marisa had an uncanny ability to consume all of one’s thoughts with her mere presence.

“Exchanging anecdotal stories, I never knew you two were so familiar?” Asriel questioned. Marisa eyed him in a knowing manner, obviously aware of Asriel's discomfort at the idea that she knew another man so well and relishing the hint of jealousy she could hear in his voice.

“I could say the same to you Lord Belacqua,” the Skraeling was now on the defensive. “I heard you had personally invited Mrs Coulter today. One must take that as the two of you being quite close.”

Marisa took a painfully slow turn to face the scholar, the white fur of her coat caressing her face and sharply contrasting the brown of her hair to give her an almost angelic look. “Uiloq, dear,” Asriel internally scoffed, she was seriously on a first name basis with this Skraeling, “that’s not common knowledge and it doesn’t need to be. As you know, more than anyone else, the need to keep some things private.”

The scholar’s face had gone stern, it seemed Marisa had applied just enough pressure to a certain nerve that the Skraeling did not want to explore much further. “Of course, Mrs Coulter.” Uiloq now looked at Asriel, unsure whether to explain what Marisa had meant or to just leave it be. He chose the latter. “Please, pardon me. Mrs Coulter. Lord Belacqua.” With a small nod to both of them, the man and his wolf daemon were gone.

“Care to explain, Marisa?”

Ignoring his question, she looked around the room, cautious of several elderly eyes still trained on her. Asriel got Marisa’s point straight away. An idea suddenly sprung into his head and a smirk broke out across his face as he leaned into her ear.

“Shall we continue this elsewhere?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I love about Marisa in this chapter, it’s that she sat there, she listened, stacked up her best uno cards and in the final seconds of the last round she slammed Asriel with a Draw 4. It’s just so her. But I think it would be wrong to say she intended to bash Asriel, instead she aimed to better herself and get her voice heard amongst the scholars - Asriel’s humiliation came as an added amusement. And Asriel understands this and is happy to rise to the challenge - not giving her a free pass because he favours her (no sir) - but making her sweat for his and the other scholars' respect. Alas, the pair of them find that one upmanship very … very … sexy. *sigh* 
> 
> And that's another Saturday.


	9. The Angel and the Fool Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Elsewhere' is not the place Marisa expected but it might serve a purpose nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be wary, made-up scientific jargon inspired by real-life phenomenon witnessed on a single YouTube video ensues below. But then again HDM is a made up multiverse so who the hell cares -\\_(-_-)_/-

Marisa had met Asriel at the rendezvous point at 20:00, the night sky already illuminated by the waxing gibbous Moon and the paths of the Oxford streets on the other side of town made visible by anbaric lamps. Stelmaria, as per usual, led the way with Ozymandias eagerly following by her side. Marisa had always assumed that the snow leopard would have quite a commanding name that befit her regal presence and when she heard it being repeated countless times during Asriel’s lecture, she was not disappointed. Her name seamlessly fit who she was just like how Asriel Belacqua would feel wrong if bestowed on any other man except Asriel himself. 

As they continued down the streets in comfortable silence, she saw the number of anbaric lamps fall, the pavements becoming darker and dingier the further they went. Marisa’s heart fluttered at the adventure of it all. During her time at St. Sophia’s she had never even bothered crossing the bridge, believing that anything on the other side held no benefit for her. As she looked around now, she knew she was right. All one could find in this part of Oxford was poverty infesting the lives of the lower class and Gyptians. It was pitiful to say the least but she continued to follow Asriel as she knew he would never send her on a wasted journey and was pleasantly surprised when she saw Stelmaria, a few metres ahead, stop at a local pub.

“Trout Inn?” Marisa questioned as she read aloud the name on the sign that hung above the door.

“Don’t bash it yet. I can assure you the Polsteads run the best bar in all of Oxford.” Asriel reassured, failing to hide the skip in his step as they neared the entrance.

“Do they now?”

Asriel held out the door, allowing both daemons and Marisa through before following after them. “See for yourself.”

The public bar was candlelit, the fireplace starved of any coal and no anbaric heaters in sight, meaning that the room relied solely on the warmth of human and daemon bodies alike that were huddled together around tables and across the bar front. Trout Inn was clearly a popular choice for the locals, brimming with watermen and farmers all wanting to drown a day’s sorrow down a pint of lager. Marisa’s ears bled at the sound of a poor rendition of the folk song ‘Let No Man Steal Your Thyme’ that was being belted out by what seemed to be the innkeeper’s wife on the other side of the bar front. The woman was spurred on by her badger daemon, who wailed in the same out of tune key as the woman, only making the whole performance more ridiculous but still readily enjoyed by the drinkers. It was decided, the place was horrendous but Marisa could see that Asriel was quite in his element. The room was like a physical embodiment of his gruffness that he had a hard time taming in the midst of high society and which he could unruly let out among people who knew no better. Marisa understood the appeal but it wasn’t her cup of tea. Before her daemon could wander off, she stooped down to collect him in her arms.

“Lord Asriel, this wasn’t the ‘elsewhere’ I thought you had in mind when I took up your offer.” Before she could make a swift exit, he caught her hand.

“I wanted you to get a feel for the place but I know this isn’t your style.” His hand applied minimal pressure on hers and Marisa knew she could have easily slipped hers through and left. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to. “Follow me.” Asriel instructed.

The two struggled past the gathering, who were all too consumed in their own fun to take mind of a woman dressed in expensive fur, to finally reach an empty hallway. To the right was a closed door labelled the ‘Saloon Bar’ and Marisa could hear a more mild, deeper laugh coming from the room compared to the main bar. Asriel saw where her eyes were focused on and wordlessly shook his head. Further still, they finally reached a flight of stairs. Marisa abruptly stopped. There was only one thing that occupied the upper floor of an inn and those were bedrooms. Set out to be rented on a daily basis and the frequent pit stop for drunk men accompanied by ladies of the night. There was no way that Asriel truly thought that he could reduce her to one of those lowly girls. Had she been that frivolous with him? She had thought her actions lay well within the boundaries of playful, a harmless flirt that teased but could never give off the impression that she disrespected herself so much as to easily bare herself to a man that was not her husband. 

Asriel read the apprehension on her face, the hand cradling her daemon digging painfully into his fur. “Marisa, what’s wrong?”

“You’ve mistaken me,” she said, shaking her head, “I won’t -”

She was interrupted by a boisterous voice that bellowed from the top of the stairs.

“The man himself, Lord Asriel!”, the voice was owned by a portly man, who was trapped in clothes a few sizes too small for him, with a woolly sheep at his side. “I was just going to see if you were downstairs.”

“Polstead!” Asriel responded with just as much gusto. Marisa was observing him in a light she had never seen before as he gave the big man a warm bear hug once he had finally descended down the stairs. It was akin to seeing him being reunited with his family, not that she was sure he even had any. “Good to see you, man.” 

“I’ve prepared the Terrace Room just as you asked but I’m afraid the balcony is under lock and key right now. There’s a health and safety issue but it’s sure to be fixed before your next visit. I know how fond you are of it.” Ahh, so this was Mr Polstead, the innkeeper and husband to the woman at the bar front with that horrendous voice.

“It shouldn’t be a bother. I would like to introduce -”

Mr Polstead erupted into his loud self again. “Oh gosh, how rude of me! A pleasure to meet you m’dear.” He enveloped Marisa into a tight hug that was sure to get his sweaty grime all over her white fur and squash the life out of Ozymandias. After finally releasing her, he gave her a quick survey. “My, ain’t you a beauty. What’s your name dear?”

“Marisa Coulter.” Asriel arched an eyebrow at her, questioning the lack of title, and she rolled her eyes in response. She felt the ‘Mrs’ wouldn’t go down well with the innkeeper and would probably send him on another spiral of questions. 

“Well Marisa, you’re in a world of luck.” Polstead continued, taking her under his arm and furthering the damage to her fur. “You see, unlike the other scholars, who reside in the Saloon Bar, Asriel has made the Terrace Room his place of solace. Never allows a single soul up there with him. So you see m’dear, this is Lord Asriel’s way of paying his deepest respects to you.”

If Asriel was a weaker man, she was sure he would be flushed a deep rouge right now and if she was a weaker woman, the innkeeper’s next sentence would have had her in a matching shade. Mr Polstead leaned into Marisa’s ear so Asriel could not hear him and whispered “Fret not m’dear, this is a sign. Lord Asriel is to make a wife of you yet. I’m sure of it.”

“Reg! Reg!” Marisa was glad for the interruption that came in the form of Mrs Polstead at the other end of the hallway shouting out for her husband which spared Marisa from having to face Asriel at that very moment. “There you are! Sorry to interrupt but I need you upfront.”

“The missus has summoned me, I must leave.” The innkeeper started to disappear down the hallway but not without one last, “Fret not m’dear, your time will come.”

The silence the pair were left in was as awkward as ever. So awkward that in the end it was Stelmaria who broke it, now ascending the stairs. “Well, shall we continue?”

* * *

With a few glasses of Tokay mixed in with shots of ‘A Muscovite’s Tear’, Marisa found herself laughing unadulterated with Asriel on the sofa. They had fooled about on a number of topics: the feverish look on Dr Peterson’s face when Asriel had threatened to intercise him; Mrs Polstead’s horrendous singing; even the ridiculous nature of their friendship. The next time Marisa glanced around while she suffered from another fit of laughter, she saw Ozymandias playfully rolling around the carpet with Stelmaria. Normally, when she saw her daemon being too social she would have recalled him to her side but tonight she left him, unknowingly comforted by seeing him enjoy himself.

“Marisa?”

“Hmmm.” She turned to Asriel, watching him take a swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

“How did you come to know the Skraeling at Jordan so well?”

“I don’t know him  _ that well _ ,” she stressed with a grin. 

He gave her a serious look, clearly still aware no matter how intoxicated he was. “Come off it Marisa, I saw the way you guys were talking. You knew him before today.”

“And even if that is true, it doesn’t mean I know him well.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to explain.

“Fine, I’ll tell you but only if you promise to do something for me after I’m done.”

“I promise.” Asriel said without a second’s thought.

Stelmaria had stopped midway through a roll to glare at him from her position on the floor. Marisa agreed, it was probably unwise for Asriel to agree to something in his drunken state before he knew what he was getting himself into. But Marisa felt like Asriel was the type of man who was not constrained to the measly confinements of a verbal promise and would outright dismiss her offer when the time came if he didn’t find it worthwhile. She could hazard that she was probably right by the way Stelmaria returned to rolling with Ozymandias, reasoning that there was no danger in letting the conversation continue as it was. Marisa would really have to make this worthwhile then.

“During my time at St. Sophia’s I had heard of a Skraeling who was studying at Jordan College. This being a first, I took note of his name. Uiloq Jense. I thought one day I would have need of him and it turns out I was right.”

“Your research.” Asriel let out with a sigh and a slow nod, easily piecing the puzzle together even whilst inebriated.

“My research.” she parroted. “It seems that even with all the readings one could do on New Denmark, you could still know so little about the place. Where else could I get accurate information on what to expect up North, confirmation that the places talked of in Rusakov’s journal were actually true?”

Asriel let out an incredulous laugh. “But why would all that matter unless you wanted to go up…” He turned to face Marisa, his eyes wide with understanding. “Marisa, there is no way you could possibly -”

Before he could finish, she abruptly stood up and moved to stand in the centre of the room. Since she faced away from him, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking but from where he was it seemed like she was staring at the moon in the night sky through the terrace glass door. Stelmaria and the golden monkey had come to join Asriel on the sofa, creating a small audience for Marisa once she turned back around to face them.

“Each year in New Denmark there’s a five month period spanning from late-April to late-August where, due to the position of the Earth during its heliocentric orbit and the high latitude of the country, the sun ceases to set. They call it the ‘Midnight Sun’, casting twenty four hours of sunlight on the land everyday.”

Asriel, having no idea where Marisa was going with this, remained silent as he watched her pace around in front of him, never truly facing him eye to eye. He was quite definite it had nothing to do with Marisa being nervous, shyness wasn’t a thing for her. It was most likely an unconscious act she committed to gather her thoughts together while she spoke.

“Now due to the ecliptic which tilts the Earth’s equator by 23.5 degrees, it is almost impossible to ever see the Moon and Sun in the sky together unless during an eclipse. But what if in the most northern towns that are at a latitude of around 66.5 degrees, during the Midnight Sun period, due to the Moon’s orbit being inclined to the ecliptic by 5 degrees, one could observe the Moon in the sky being diametrically opposed by the Sun? At that specific moment, the person who witnesses this would be experiencing a standstill between Night and Day. A moment where time itself would stand still.”

This moment would have been dramatic had it not been for Marisa’s daemon who hooted his support while clapping his hands once she’d finished, clearly a little inebriated from the alcoholic substance coursing through Marisa’s body like an untamed fire. Stelmaria looked at the primate in shock at his uncharacteristic behaviour, expecting Marisa to reprimand him at any moment. But what she did surprised everyone in the room. She bursted out into a fit of giggles, her face red with hysterics at her monkey’s strange behaviour as she drunkenly swayed towards them. 

“What do you think?” Her voice was now much lighter compared to the rigid tone it held a few minutes ago. 

“I think you’re onto something. A time when the world stood still.”

“Exactly.” She slumped onto the carpet in front of him and snatched the bottle out of his hand, taking gulps of the crystal liquid that was sure to burn her throat. “I’m sure you see where your promise comes in now.”

Asriel didn’t but nodded nonetheless.

“You see in this regressive society we live in, you know as much as I do that it’s unthinkable for a married woman to travel outside the country without her husband even if it was to visit her family, let alone to go on an expedition up North.” She took the final drops of ‘A Muscovite’s Tear’ before resting the bottle next to Stelmaria, who took a few curious sniffs of the bottle’s rim before knocking it to the ground. “That leaves me, Asriel, with a compelling theory but no evidence to prove it.”

Asriel grinned at her slightly flushed face. She’d finally done it. Dropped the pretences that they were anything but acquaintances and finally called him by his name. Asriel. Not Lord Belacqua or Lord Asriel but Asriel and it sounded sweetest on her tongue than any other. Looking at her now, her lips were so near and full, smelling of both the sweet Tokay and sharp vodka. Asriel could feel the urge to envelope them with his own lips blaze within him like a passionate inferno, the need to melt in her warmth and yield his liberty for her stronger than ever. The sinful desire felt so right at the moment regardless of the complexities of their relationship that he was even sure Stelmaria would spare his actions this time.

“Asriel? Hello?” she waved her hands in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze. “Earth to Asriel, did you hear what I said?”

He nodded again, his eyes falling back to her lips.

“Well that settles it then.” She got up from her crouched position and moved to sit on the bed, where her grease-stained fur coat lay, unclasping the straps of her heels. “That leaves us with around two weeks to make final preparations.” Her daemon had gone to aid Marisa with her other heel, struggling in earnest with the complexity of the strap. Just like everything else in Marisa’s life, the monkey was so willing to submit himself to her and offer aid in any manner possible. Stelmaria flipped her tail onto his lap at that thought, “Sure does sound familiar,” she sighed teasingly under her breath so only he could hear, “Do you even know what preparations she’s talking of?” his daemon questioned.

Asriel’s head finally cleared. “Preparations?” he asked Marisa. 

Finally free of her shoes, Marisa met Asriel’s eyes with a quizzical look. “Don’t look at me so clueless, Asriel. I’ve made some headway in the logistics of the expedition with the help of Uiloq but there’s still much to conclude.”

“Expedition?” Asriel turned to look at Stelmaria, who didn’t seem to be as bemused as he was. She caught his eye and mouthed ‘ _ To the North’ _ . 

Scheisse!

“Marisa, I think I would have recalled if you’d ask me to go on an expedition up North for you.”

She broke into a seductive grin that spread ear to ear as she toyed with the golden fur of her daemon, who now sat beside her on the bed. “No, I’m pretty sure I asked you and I’m quite certain you nodded in agreement, obviously empathising with my helpless situation.”

“Marisa -”

“Of course, it will be expense free. What type of person would I be to ask someone to cash out on a favour?”

“Do you know how expensive expeditions are? I can’t imagine how you’d be able to -”

“Asriel, can’t you see? Everything will be in order. There’s nothing to fret about.”

Though she was metres away, Marisa’s presence seemed to encompass his whole being. It’s like she had a hold on him that could withstand any distance and though he didn’t like how it  emasculated him because it was her, he found himself relishing the control she had over him. Having him willing to submit to this ludicrous proposal without further argument. He let out a defeated sigh, promising to himself that he’d never get drunk in front of Marisa again lest he wanted this circumstance to repeat itself.

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” She fell into the embrace of the mattress and curled up around her dozing daemon. “I have an airship booked in the morning and I would like to get some shut eye now.”

Stelmaria, aware of what Marisa was requesting, leaped off the sofa towards the door.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to your hotel, where your belongings are?” Asriel questioned.

“Don’t be foolish, Asriel. At this time in the night, on this side of town, in the state I’m in? It would be like asking to get killed.”

“We should be getting some rest too.” His daemon didn’t even face him when she said that, making it clear that she didn’t approve of Asriel quite blatantly trying to overstay his welcome after Marisa had politely asked them to leave. But he gave it one last shot.

“You know I’m paying for this room.”

“I’m sure there are others you can also pay for on this floor. Goodnight Asriel.”

That was it. Marisa wasn’t going to entertain this any longer so reluctantly Asriel left the room and closed the door behind him. He heard the patter of light feet and the turn of the lock as he stood outside the door. Asriel froze. He was quite sure he just saw the golden monkey asleep moments before. Had that been a play? Had she been playing him the entire day? Getting him tense during his lecture through her questioning, jealous with her familiarity with the Skraeling, guilty with the apprehensive look she gave him as he led her towards the inn room and unreserved with her drunken state. All to ensure that he would say yes to her?

“She wasn’t even drunk, you imbecile.” Stelmaria growled as she stalked to another free room further down the hallway.

“You knew what she was doing the whole time?”

His daemon curved her head in a proud manner to face him, her eyes glowing in the dimly lit corridor. “Come now Asriel, don’t tell me she fooled you that well?” By the dumbstruck look Asriel was giving her, Marisa had. Stelmaria let out a low purr as she slunk into the free room she found, “I guess she is that good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Marisa has a high alcohol tolerance and doesn't get drunk but has perfected the talent of both appearing drunk and getting others around her drunk cause she a bad b!tch. 
> 
> Till next Saturday.


	10. Inveigle 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the question of financing is finally resolved. At Edward's expense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter but don't worry we are slowly trudging forward through the plot.

As his wife had promised, Marisa returned back to their house just in time to join him on the way to this week’s Sunday service at St. Paul’s Cathedral. There was no way Edward could have gone without his wife by his side, lest people started gossiping, and he wasn’t fond of missing services as Timothy had an irritating habit of keeping count. Edward could only imagine the shame and embarrassment of being labelled a ‘recusant’. Marisa had quickly changed out of her lavish (yet stained) fur coat to don a more appropriate black capelet, ensuring she did not stand out amongst the congregation. That would do no good.

Today’s sermon was centered around lessons to be learnt from the downfall of Jezebel with Bishop Timothy Augustus seemingly taking great pleasure in vividly describing the manipulative behaviour displayed by the wife of King Ahab. Emphasising how she acted on her own selfish desires by turning the people away from the true religion to worship an idol and murdering those who opposed her. Timothy stared at the female pews as he drove home how deception often laid behind a beautiful face and within soothing words, relishing how the women shifted in discomfort as they secretly hoped they had dressed pious enough not to draw the unwanted attention of the bishop. But things were only due to get worse as he then went on to mercilessly describe the way Jezebel died, adorned with all her jewels and make-up that were unable to save her from her bloody demise as she fell from her window. It was the final nail on the coffin as when it came time to sing the hymn, ‘Our Endless Love For The Authority’, the female pews commanded the room with such passion as if being spared from purgatory depended on how passionately they sung. Marisa, as far as Edward could see from the other side of the hall, remained unfazed whilst singing in her usual state of reverence with her head bowed. 

Edward took note of how Marisa was uncharacteristically vocal on the ride home, maintaining a good amount of unimportant conversation on the weather and questioning Edward on how his week was while she was away. Even presently, as Marisa calmly walked into his study with a tray of herbal tea and sweet bread, Edward couldn’t help but feel disturbed by her oddly sweet behaviour. Her more common aloof attitude was gone and that could only mean one thing. 

“Here you are, honey,” she said as she rested the tray on his desk, “I know it must be very important if you have to work on Sabbath.”

Her monkey fell from her shoulder to land next to Virginia on the desk, already initiating contact by lightly tapping the bridge of her nose. This displeased his daemon as she shook the finger off but Ozymandias was persistent, now changing tact by using his tail to amuse her.  _ What were these two up to? _ Edward thought.

Marisa had sauntered to stand behind his chair, massaging his shoulders while letting out a low, contented hum.

“Ah, I forgot to ask.” Edward started, turning to face his wife. “How was the lecture at Oxford? Helpful?”

“It was great. Insightful. Worthwhile.” Marisa's voice came out as a husky, deep, sensual sound as if she was disinterested in talking and would rather preoccupy herself with other things. He tried to shake her off but her hands only ascended up to his neck, now lightly toying with his ear lobes.

“I hope you thanked Dr. Carne for his invite. It was very kind of him.” Edward hoped by continuing to talk he would wear her efforts for something else out. Who was he kidding? Marisa was a persistent piece of work.

“Of course, I did. What kind of woman do you think I am?” Her voice was now breathy and Edward knew this was edging towards dangerous territory. 

“Marisa, I should really return to my -” He stopped as he felt her breath at his ear, the sensation averting his mind from his work to her presence. She nipped at his lobe, humming at the hiss of pain he let out. The jab of pain caught Virginia’s attention, who met Edward’s eyes with unease as she was also unaware of what the pair were up to. But before she knew it, Ozymandias had tackled her to the ground. It was difficult to discern if it was out of playfulness or to avert her attention from Edward, as Ozymandias returned to amusing her with his tail once they were on the ground. 

“Talking about Oxford, an advancement has been made.” Marisa had finally stood up, giving room for Edward to let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Really?” Edward was chirpier now, happy to be freed from Marisa’s hold. Only to be disappointed when she pulled out his chair to fall into his lap, straddling him between her thighs.

“Really,” she repeated. She dragged her nails across his cheeks, grazing his blonde stubble, before holding his chin within the grasp of her thumb and index finger, moving his head about as she continued. “But it seems with every step forward an obstacle must surface. After a week of scouting at Jordan College, I finally found a scholar willing to do an expedition on my behalf.”

“I never knew your research required an expedition. Why didn’t you tell me earl-”

She shushed him with her finger. “Everything in Experimental Theology could do with some proof. Without it we’re just pulling at hypothetical strings.” She bent down to peck him lightly on his lips, pulling back before he had a chance to respond. “But that’s not the point. The point is that now I have a scholar, who by the way is Lord Belacqua, ready to go on an expedition that I have no money to fund. How clumsy of me to not check my finances before I went around asking scholars for such a favour? But I was so giddy in the moment, I forgot all about it.” She let out an exasperated sigh, looking at him with a pouty mouth that begged to be pitied. But in the whirl of things she said only one thing stuck out to Edward.

“Did you say Lord Belacqua agreed -”

She abruptly jumped out of his lap, now circling his desk in an anxious manner. “Yes and imagine how embarrassing it would be to withdraw my request from so highly a man. It would paint us both in such a bad light. To have such a silly and inefficient scholar as a wife, one who couldn’t even take mind to arrange her finances before pulling a man of great title into her ventures. And I had just finally got recognition at Jordan, all now to have my hard work dashed in the trash.”

Marisa finally stopped pacing to look at Edward with teary eyes, her hands fisting and relaxing in order to control her overflowing emotions. She looked like she might break at any moment.

“Oh look at me,” she continued, “I came here to relieve you of your stress and I’ve only added more to your plate. Pardon me.” She hurriedly picked up her daemon before heading for the door.

“Marisa.” Edward called out.

“Yes, Edward.” A single tear streamed down her perfect face as she turned to face him again. To Edward, it was against the very fabric of nature to see someone so beautiful, so sad. It was surely a sin in the eyes of the Authority to deny her this. He sighed.

“What if I foot the bill?”

“Oh, no. Edward, you couldn’t possibly. Do you know how expensive expeditions are? I couldn’t ask that of you.” She turned to leave again.

“Marisa, you didn’t ask me. I’m offering. This is something I want to do.” She was facing him again, this time more tears had been shed, wetting her rosy cheeks. “As your husband I should be able to support you when you’re in need. Let me do this for you.” 

Marisa sniffled. “Are you sure?”

“Marisa, when have I ever disappointed you?”

“Never.” Just like that, the sniffling and waterworks stopped. Her eyes fell to the tray. “Oh. Your tea must be cold by now, I’ll make you another one.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist. And Edward ... thank you.” With a wink, she disappeared down the hallway.

Virginia had somehow managed to get on top of the desk again during their discourse, looking at him with a disappointed gaze. “You already knew she was up to something. Why on Earth did you yield to her?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Pray tell, what did?”

Edward picked up a sweet bread, childishly scoffing it into his mouth. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” 

“You’re right. You don’t…” his daemon sighed, “because I already know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virginia and Stelmaria are kindred in being done with their humans falling for Marisa’s wiles.


	11. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When friends (lovers) say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a tease. 
> 
> We're close but not there yet.

For the last few weeks, as the days neared the set expedition date, Marisa and Asriel met with growing frequency at the College of London’s library. With Edward’s money, Marisa now had surplus funds that could be put to use in gathering the equipment required to provide proof of the phenomenon. She couldn’t help but break into a pleased smile as she had watched Asriel’s stunned face when she handed him a Linhof instrument and an anbaromagnetic clock, these items being rare in nature but, as usual; Marisa had found a way to get her hands on them. Everything was falling into place. Soon enough, the airship that was to transport Asriel had been fully packed. Marisa had handed Asriel her final predictions on days best to attempt making an observation and the contact details of the locals who were to be of help in New Denmark.

So as Marisa sat in front of Asriel on his final day in London, she could only curse her compulsive behaviour for accepting Asriel’s request to meet up again. Truly, they had nothing left to discuss. All was in order. Hence the pair found themselves going over what they already knew, nearly dying of boredom but still maintaining their opposing position on their seats in order to drag out their last day together for as long as possible. All until Marisa couldn’t take it anymore.

“Honestly I don’t even know why I am here,” she sighed as she folded up her copy of the map of New Denmark. “You have all of this in the notes we’ve packed.”

Asriel leaned back into his chair, his eyes focused on her countenance instead of the work laid out on the table. “It’s always good to drive the message home.”

“Like a broken gramophone” Asriel heard Stelmaria mutter under the table. Why Stelmaria had grown to take Marisa’s side during every confrontation nowadays would remain a mystery to him but her disgruntled comment had elicited a chuckle from Marisa.

“Seriously though, I feel like my head might explode if I have to explain how to set up the anbaromagnetic clock one more time.” Marisa was now stashing the remnants of her work into her handbag. “Lord Asriel, I think I should get going. It’s getting late.” 

Asriel was eagerly searching his mind for something that would convince Marisa to stay a bit longer when the doors of the library swung open hitting the wall, the sound reverberating throughout the large room. Both brought their attention to the scholar that had entered, clutching his ferret daemon in his hands as he hurriedly walked down the pathway to stop at the table behind them. Marisa turned to see the man bowed down before Master Lovell, his erratic breaths and hushed tone failing to hide what he was whispering to the Master.

“Secendum legem de refugio scholasticorum, protectionem tegimentumque huius collegii pro Michael Dune nomine reposco.”

It was the Latin recitation for scholastic sanctuary. As part of all courses at colleges, scholars were expected to be able to recite the statement by the time they were due to graduate. However, since scholars had also been well-trained in keeping their research under the Magisterium's radar , the use of it was so rare that Marisa had almost forgotten it in its entirety. Whatever it was that had reduced the poor scholar to this, Marisa wanted no part in it. She turned back round to face Asriel again.

“I think that is my cue to leave” she said in a low voice, not waiting for Asriel’s response as she walked out of the library with Ozymandias following in her steps. Another pair of footsteps hurried after her accompanied by the slow patter of paws. Asriel, honestly, would not let up.

“Marisa. Marisa. Marisa!” Asriel called out in a hushed tone as they entered the hallway.

She spun on her heels. This was wearing thin. “How can I help you, Lord Asriel?”

He stilled. He wasn’t fond of how she had reverted back to calling him ‘Lord Asriel’ after they had taken a progressive step forward at The Trout Inn. 

It really was all a play that night.

“Errr…” His mind had gone blank as their matching blue eyes met.

She raised a perfectly sculpted brow in a questioning manner, humoured by his speechlessness. She edged closer towards him, swinging her handbag side to side in a taunting manner.

“Don’t tell me the mighty Lord Asriel has nothing to say?”

“Erm, I’ve just been wondering about the Skraeling.”

“The Skraeling? Again?” It took all her strength to maintain a neutral face. Men were too easy.

“Yes. The Skraeling. At Jordan… again. I was wondering what he had to keep private?” Marisa looked slightly lost at what he was getting at. “You said there was a “need to keep some things private” and I was just wondering…” she was smiling now, “what that was.”

Marisa wished Asriel could see how he often squirmed in her presence. The macho man turned into a prepubescent boy under her gaze. His question was quite random but she would entertain it. 

“Oh, it was nothing of importance,” she sighed dramatically. “He let slip that he had engaged with a witch on his last return to his hometown. He didn’t want it to become public knowledge.”

Asriel thought it was best not to call Marisa out on the fact that people just don’t “let slip” their affairs, especially those as damaging as one with a witch - that, in fact, Asriel was positive the Skraeling found himself compulsively revealing all manner of things under Marisa’s enchantment. 

“Well, that clears that up,” he piped instead.

“It does.” Marisa watched as Stelmaria approached Ozymandias, the leopard more recently lacking the reserve she’d formally held and her daemon did not hesitate to sink his hands into her fur, gently stroking it. “I think I should get going.”

Stelmaria now nestled her head into Ozymandias’ golden fur, letting out a soft purr of content as she enjoyed his embrace. “Four months is a long time, isn’t it Marisa?” Asriel all but growled as he, no longer caring that they were in a public space, neared Marisa.

“It is.” Marisa replied, anxiously looking between the door and the staircase in case someone decided to join them in the currently empty hallway. Asriel was getting too close for comfort and though Marisa could easily retreat into the busy London street that awaited her through the double door behind her, she found herself rooted to the spot. Transfixed by Asriel’s commanding gaze as he stood before her.

“Marisa, come with me.”

A dry laugh slipped out. “That’s quite a ridiculous proposition,” she retorted but her words went unheard as he spoke over her.

“It would be such a long time to not see your beautiful face. I’m sure my heart will ache as a withdrawal response to no longer being in your presence.” His hot breath now blanketed her face and Marisa could feel as it became more erratic the longer they stood like this. Together in the most public of spaces. He brought his hand to gently hold her cheek in a caress before moving it up to take a pass through her dark brown, curly mane.

“You don’t need me. I’m sure you’ll be fine, Lord Asriel.” He took a second pass, this time gripping the hair as he heard her utter the distasteful ‘Lord Asriel’.

“How dangerous New Denmark truly is. What if I don’t come back in one piece?” 

His words warranted a pout of his lips but instead his gaze was lust-hazed, his playful question a dichotomy to his intense countenance. The air between them, hot and crisp.

“Like I said before, I’m sure you’d be fine Lor-,” his grip tightened, eliciting a pained groan from her before she corrected herself, “Asriel.”

“I’m sure you’re right but it wouldn’t hurt to wish me well, would it now?”

His lips lay inches away from hers, twitching with a craving to latch onto Marisa’s lips, her skin, her anything really. As long as it satiated both their burning need to feel the other. Marisa’s breathing matched that of Asriel’s. Irregular, heated, passionate. She hated to admit that the danger of being caught made this moment all the more sensual, her desire drumming tightly against the cage she’d locked it in deep within her heart. 

This moment was wrong. 

This moment was sinful.

“I wish you a safe expedition, Asriel.”

Unexpectedly, he released her, breaking the pleasurable moment to Marisa’s annoyance. Asriel slowly walked back towards the door leading to the library, mindful not to bump into his daemon, all the while still facing Marisa.

“There, I have it,” he announced with a pleased smirk. 

“Have what?”

“All the proof I need, Marisa, that you actually care.” He winked at her and she tutted at his ridiculousness. 

“Of course, I care. My research currently depends on you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, mon chéri. Farewell.” She watched as he entered the library again with Stelmaria, leaving her with Ozymandias in the hallway. Her daemon looked at her with a face of longing as if he hadn’t been cuddling the snow leopard mere seconds ago. But he was right. Whether Marisa liked it or not, this was going to be a long few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Lana. Lana. Lana!”  
> “What?!”
> 
> If you know, you know.


	12. Phenomena or Fantasia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asriel spends a few months up North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was initially two separate chapters but I doubt anyone want to stay in the North for two whole weeks and I just want to expedite the story to my favourite parts (which is the second half of this story). Honestly, I feel like I’ve written 14 chapters of exposition just to build-up enough tension. I truly commend the patience of anyone still reading this fic.

The reality of constant sunlight had not struck Asriel as a point of concern when he first set flight to the small town of Upernavik in New Denmark. Asriel never even bothered to consider how it would feel to have no natural concept of time, wandering the foreign streets in limbo with a constant feeling of lethargy draining him of any motivation. Even Stelmaria, who often kept her vexations to herself, wore her exerted spirit on her shoulder, never failing to let out a low growl whenever Asriel forced her out into the cold wilderness. 

Jorut Kaali and his older sister, Oleeraq, were probably the only thing keeping Asriel going by the time he’d crossed the three months mark of his time in New Denmark. Marisa had been able to contact the siblings and confirm them as quasi-tour guides/landlords with the help of the Skraeling at Jordan and for this thoughtful measure Asriel was eternally grateful to her. He could not imagine locating the inactive volcano, that Marisa had pinpointed as being the best place to carry out observations of the sky, without the entertaining company of Jorut, who at 24 years old had the most extensive list of close calls with death that Asriel had ever encountered. Jorut’s jokes and easy banter with his reindeer daemon, Aama, had been a necessary distraction during the first painful hike up the volcano, locally called Mount Viivi (‘the sleeper’), when Asriel had first arrived. 

But now having been familiarised with the trek after taking the route countless times while lugging all the equipment on his back, Asriel was now strong enough to bear the brunt of the harsh weather and dangerous terrain with just Stelmaria. He’d even gotten used to the cuisine, first unsettled by the meals Oleeraq would kindly bring him that often included a wide-range of game freshly caught that day. But now he was able to eat a dish of Nipisaq without batting an eye. He’d even found a solution to the sunlight that pierced through his lodging’s windows during the supposed nighttime, erecting a make-shift blackout curtain over the glass in order to make his nights easier.

However, though life had gotten easier in the North, Asriel found himself admitting to Stelmaria that he felt an overwhelming sense of being homesick. Not that he had been quite social in Anglia and he rarely ever visited his family in Caledonia. Yet, he still couldn’t help feeling like an outsider in this close knit town where everyone knew everyone. People were welcoming but cautious of him being a foreigner, willing to introduce him to their culture and traditions but carefully watching to see if he ever crossed the line towards being disrespectful. It was like a mental prison that trapped Asriel in the role of the nice tourist, unable to be his usual brazen self. 

“Maybe you can finally sympathise with how Uiloq Jense must feel? Imprisoned under a spotlight at Jordan, forced to break the unjust stereotypes of Skraelings being savages that has endlessly been perpetuated in Anglia.” Stelmaria muttered one evening as she curled up near the fireplace where Asriel had been warming himself up.

Asriel had never really thought of that, just assuming that the world had progressed far enough for those prejudices to be a thing of the past. “I guess you’re right...” Asriel conceded but he still wasn’t satisfied. When he had seen Uiloq at Jordan, the man had been quite at one with himself. Not trapped under any gaze but freely enjoying the atmosphere after the lecture.

Stelmaria, having known where Asriel’s mind had wandered off to, rolled her eyes at his ignorance. A man could be so gifted in the field of science but utterly clueless in everything else. “Asriel, I know you view the world under a narrow scope but you must have seen that Uiloq only felt free with Marisa. If you’d observed his interactions with other scholars that afternoon, you would have noticed he was as stiff as an ironing board.” His daemon was temporarily transfixed with the rolling embers in the fireplace, how the flames curled around each other in an artful display. She let out a soft sigh before turning to meet Asriel’s eyes. “I don’t know what it is about Marisa but she seems to bring the soul out of everyone’s shell. It’s like she has an uncanny ability to see through someone’s act in order to expose the person’s true nature, without the person even knowing.”

* * *

“Off again?” Oleeraq was out on the porch, packing her toolbox for her daily ice-fishing excursion. Erni, Oleeraq’s arctic fox daemon, was aiding her in stuffing the fishing gear into the small compartments.

“Yep, hopefully this time I’ll get lucky.” Asriel replied.

“I hope you do! You’ve been at this shy of four months now, the Midnight Sun season is almost up.” The Kaalis had watched Asriel leave the cottage once a week without fail. Each time wishing for luck and each time returning to the siblings empty handed, hoping that the next trip would be better.

“Don’t worry, Oleeraq. I have a good feeling this time.”

“You always do.” Oleeraq returned to her packing, struggling to fit the fishing rod amongst the other equipment. “This Marisa Coulter lady you keep on talking about better be worth all the stress you’re putting yourself through. If she even knew the half of it...” Erni was shaking his head in equal exasperation at how hopeless Asriel seemed to be when it came to the Mrs Coulter character, putting himself through this devilish expedition on her behalf.

“Trust me, she’s worth it.” Asriel reassured, a smile unconsciously creeping onto his face just at the mention of her name.

* * *

Motionless. 

Magnificent.

Mesmerising.

The phenomenon which Marisa had so acutely predicted and described could only be done true justice when observed with the naked eye. To one side, the sky was washed a soft peach with the Sun at its core, radiating its solar rays in yellow beams. The beautiful sight was diametrically opposed by a full Moon which hung dully on the other side of the sky, still swept in the orange hue of the Midnight Sun but with the lunar object as its focal point instead.

“It’s truly amazing.” Stelmaria mumbled, not one to usually give compliments but she couldn’t help but gape at the sight in front of her.

Asriel went to check the Linhof Instrument to ensure it was taking photograms of the sky. A ball-like instrument took circular laps across the instrument, hopefully producing a series of photographic images that would provide a 360 degree portrayal of the sky. As Marisa had predicted the anabormagnetic clock had stopped working as soon as the Sun and Moon had moved to directly oppose one another in the sky. It felt like Asriel and Stelmaria were in a bubble where time no longer existed, where the fabric of reality was suspended and everything beyond the realm of imagination was possible. 

But the most peculiar feeling was that Asriel felt an even greater presence among him. He felt like it wasn’t just him and Stelmaria here but that they were among other people from different walks of life all at this same spot. All at the peak of Mount Viivi to witness this moment. In this still stretch of time which seemed as endless as the body of water that makes up the ocean, he felt like he’d been submerged in a sea of tranquility that provided him with the peace of mind all humans unwittingly yearn for. 

However, all good things must pass.

Just like that, the anabormagnetic clock began to tick again and the moment was lost as the Moon climbed higher into the sky. Daemon and human remained silent. Quietly letting what had just transpired to sink in, afraid that their fickle minds had already started to contort a fake memory of the moment. 

“I felt it too...” 

Asriel turned from the Moon to look at Stelmaria, who was still gazing at the Sun. 

“Like we weren’t alone,” she finished.

* * *

Jorut had seemed to find the most inopportune moment to inform Asriel that he was not the first explorer the siblings had hosted at their home. On the final day of Asriel’s stay, Jorut had disclosed that Asriel reminded him fondly of a previous guest called Grumann who had passed through the town about a year ago on the hunt for the best viewing sight for the Aurora Borealis. From what Asriel could gather from the young man, Grumann had not been satisfied with the view available from the peak of Mount Vivvi and instead planned to venture to Kangerlussuaq in hopes of better sites. 

It was quite freakish the almost encyclopedic knowledge Jorut held about his guests as Asriel soon found out with his host continuing until dusk, reciting tales of other tourists who had passed through the small town of Upernavik. But thanks to this belated information, Asriel now found himself on an airship that was destined for Kangerlussaq instead of London.

He was sure Marisa would be angry with him by the time he returned to London, now delaying his return by another week after his already late departure from the Kaali residence in early September. However, Asriel had reasoned that this was probably the last time he was going to be in New Denmark for the next few years and it would be illogical to not exploit the opportunity by doing a little more snooping while he was here.

Besides, if he was to return late, he might as well do so fashionably.

* * *

Kangerlussaq was even more desolate than Upernavik. Only having a few seasonal lodgings for tourists who came to visit the region during the winter to see the Northern Lights. To ensure that the town was perfect for such viewing, there was not an anbaric streetlight in sight. No cars, no source of anbaric light at all. Leaving streets to instead be shrouded in darkness during nightfall as the Midnight Sun season had finally passed.

Hence, Asriel found himself alone with Stelmaria, at night, in the village square. Not another soul among them and having to bear the deafening silence that consumed the abandoned square with only each other for company.

The moment was not all lost though.

As daemon and human gazed up, they saw the famous phenomenon dance across the night sky. Beautiful neon lights cracked across the dark canvas, forming sharp strikes of green, blue and violet through the black abyss. At first, the sight looked disorganised. A jumble of vibrant lines and softer hues interrupting what would have been an average night sky. But the longer Asriel stared, the more structure it seemed to take. The lights took the form of bodies of construction, extravagant in nature and nothing of this world but still oddly familiar. 

A blink. 

The lights became an array of confusion again, disjointed and beautiful. What seemed like a city in the sky was lost again.

“Tell me you saw that too?”

“I think it’s quite hard to miss the obvious display in the sky,” his daemon joked dryly. 

Asriel dropped his head to glare at Stelmaria. Had he truly gone crazy for a second and imagined that city in the sky? Could his daemon not see it? Were the structures only privy to the human eye? 

Stelmaria met his concerned eyes and let out a soft chuckle.

“Yes, Asriel. I saw it too. A work of tired imagination I assure you.” His daemon had returned to her usual disinterested mood and started to play with the snow at her paws. Yet, Asriel was not satisfied. An hour airship ride could not have tired him so that he was now hallucinating things in the sky. Was this possibly the site Grumann was looking for?

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Stelmaria let out in a low sigh, already exhausted at the thought of what was bound to be days of sleepless nights in the Inventory Room when they returned home.

Just like that, there was another exciting reason to return to London as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in London next Saturday. Also, if you haven't heard yet, season 2 has been confirmed for November!


	13. Better Late Than Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asriel returns back to Anglia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but it seems like Covid has taken the Masriel flashbacks we were expecting in S2 away. What I heard is that lockdown began when McAvoy began shooting so...
> 
> Anyways, here's another chapter. I'm gonna go cry in a corner.

The space was candlelit. 

Marisa could see warm orange splotches against her closed eyelids at various points where candles stood in the Inventory room. Nevertheless, her thoughts were focused on the sensation of lips trailing across the curve of her neck, the feeling reminiscent of that time at the National Theatre. A moment she’d failed to purge from her memory. The warmth within her spread as the ministrations continued across her nape to the other side of her neck. She hummed in delight, excited by the pooling heat inside of her as the lips moved up towards her chin to encapsulate her own waiting lips. 

“Open your eyes,” an unknown presence requested. The voice was gruff and yet familiar but her current sensual haze made it impossible for Marisa to put a name to it.

“Open your eyes.” This time the voice was more forceful. Commanding. She struggled against it, not wanting to lose this precious moment. But as she moved to deepen the kiss, the figure disappeared and she was left with her own lonely company. That was strange. Where was Ozymandias? Panic flooded over her as her heart imparted worry that her mind was reluctant to give into. Slowly, she released her lids and opened her eyes.

There her golden monkey was. He sat on the desk, exactly nose to nose with her. A horrid scowl across his face. The daemon looked ready to beat her to a pulp with his small fists but had enough will to restrain himself. He wasn’t like Marisa. He, unlike her, was averse to self-inflicted pain.

Marisa pulled at her notebook which Ozymandias had been ungraciously squatting on. He took the hint and sauntered off to the edge of the desk before dropping to the ground, leaving Marisa to resume her work. She flicked idly through the pages. Sketches, calculations, theories. _ Truly riveting _ she sarcastically thought to herself. Marisa honestly did enjoy the process of research but in the back of her mind the nagging feeling that she was missing out on the action remained. Not being able to explore, to test the practical elements of her theories. Always having to pass it on to a man. Was this to be how the rest of her career would pan out? Was she always to play second fiddle? 

Something had to give.

Marisa knew she couldn’t live life like that. It was bad enough she was number two in her marriage, her career was not going to take on the same format. She’ll be on top in her own right by hook or by crook. 

Marisa’s pondering ceased as she heard someone outside struggle with the door lock of the Inventory Room. “Dammit!” the man muttered as he attempted to open the door.

“You locked it,” a smooth voice outside observed.

“No shit, Stel.” 

Marisa froze. Had Asriel already returned back to Anglia? Evidently so. He hadn’t even bothered to inform her; typical. Ozymandias moved towards the door with a giddy spring in his step only to be pushed against the round bookcase as the door was pushed open. If Asriel’s face was anything to go by, it was clear he hadn’t expected to see Marisa here. No less with her arms crossed and an angry frown gracing her beautiful face.

“Marisa!” Asriel attempted, failing to recover but putting on an adequate show of doing just that, “Putting good use to that key I gave you, I see.” 

“Ever heard of a telegram?” she questioned, her voice stony and unforgiving.

“I was planning to send one as soon as -” Stelmaria had crossed in front of Asriel forcing him to stop in his tracks. He watched as his daemon walked into the welcoming embrace of the golden monkey, who was all too eager to nestle his head into her fur. At least their daemons were having a good reunion. Asriel looked up to see Marisa’s face set on him as she waited for him to continue.

“I was waiting until I got back to London.”

“Poor excuse.”

“Hey -”

“It’s common courtesy, Asriel,” Marisa interrupted. Her blue orbs looked him up and down, finally taking in his appearance. She must have seen something that pleased her, he thought, as when their eyes met again, there was amusement dancing across her face as she offered him a small smile. It seemed like all was forgiven, which was just as well as Asriel didn’t think he could forgo his pride enough to apologise. 

“Why are you here, Marisa?” he questioned as he drew a chair from one side of the table to seat himself next to her.

“Working, why are you here?” she countered.

“No reason.” Asriel watched as Marisa’s face dropped slightly, her eyes veiling with fleeting hurt and offence but for the life of him he couldn’t reason why she responded so. He thought she would pester on but evidently she was raised too proper and instead of prying, she plastered on a fake smile as she easily changed the topic.

“How silly of me,” she lightly hit him on the chest and broke him out of his daze, “you’re back!. How was the expedition? Went to plan, I hope?”

“To a T.” And for the next couple of hours the pair lost themselves in recounting Asriel’s time in New Denmark. Marisa visibly relaxed into the moment, closing her notebook in order to rest her head upon the desk as she lazily watched his mouth move animatedly. He took great pleasure in telling Marisa the countless number of treks he had made up Mount Vivvi, only to return to the Kaali residence empty handed and with this Marisa took pity on him. 

“But all’s good that ends well,” Asriel finished, flicking Marisa’s chin with his thumb and earning a small smile from her in response, “I’ve shipped all the evidence to your house so you can pour over it in greater detail.”

“Thank you, Asriel,” she paused. “For everything.” She gave him her most earnest smile which he returned in kind. The air was filled with gratitude and contained joy at an expedition well done as Lord knows how many often end in shambles. Marisa slowly pulled herself up into an upright position, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wooden desk while her mind clouded with inner bliss.  _ Sometimes it was nice to have someone to depend on. A man who would ask for nothing in return. A good man.  _ When she came to, she fixed Asriel with a concentrated look. “Are you sure that’s everything, Asriel? You did take your time coming back to Anglia.”

“What else would there be?” Asriel deflected. He’d hoped to keep his newfound interest in Grumman’s work to himself. However, he could sense that his secrecy was coming off as a lack of trust which was ironic considering they had long since past the trust barrier ever since Marisa had confided in him in her research. He could only reason that keeping secrets was a hard learned habit of his that was now proving difficult to break.

“Why’d you come here, Asriel?” The steely look Marisa was giving him, her arms back in their previously crossed manner, made it clear to the explorer that this was the last shot she was giving him at being honest and it was in his best interest to come clean.

“I was planning to look into Grumman’s work but then I was stopped by -”

“Grumman?” Marisa interrupted, cutting off what surely would have been a flattering statement directed at herself. Her arms fell to her sides as she leaned into Asriel, curiosity spread across her face. “The Dust fanatic?”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“In passing.” Marisa wasn’t in the mood to delve into how just now. “Why Grumman?”

“Well, the hosts you set me up with spoke of him and they piqued my interest.” To Asriel, Marisa seemed satisfied with his non-answer as she nodded her head in understanding. Still not the whole truth, as Marisa must have known, but enough for her not to drag it on any longer. But instead of falling back into her chair in satisfaction, Marisa leaned in even closer. Her head tilted left and right, keenly observing the lower half of his face.

“Is there something on my face?” Asriel shifted, uncomfortable under her gaze and feeling too awkward to enjoy their current proximity.

No response.

Instead, Marisa raised a hand to gently scrape across his chin. Her manicured nails however did not meet smooth skin, it instead raked its way through an unkempt beard that Asriel had acquired during his time in New Denmark.

“Oh,” he started sheepishly, “I’ve been meaning to cut -”

She shushed him with a singular thumb pushed against his lips. Then slowly, she removed it, her navy/black ombre nail pulling at his lower lip. Her four other fingers roughly scratched the base of his beard before she broke into a glamorous smile. Ear to ear, unhinged with soft laughter.

“I love it,” she confirmed. “It could do with some grooming but it should be kept.” 

“Really?”

“It suits you.” She watched as his blue eyes dropped to her plump lips and all to suddenly what had felt like a daydream started to feel more like deja vu. The Inventory Room was candlelit and here, before Marisa, was the man that was owner to that familiar, gruff voice. He hungrily licked his lips and leaned in to close the gap, aiming to encapsulate her waiting lips. That familiar, sinful warmth pooled inside of her and before her desires could override her senses, Marisa sprang out of her seat - startling Asriel out of his sensual daze and stirring Stelmaria out of her slumber next to Ozymandias by the door. 

“I should get going,” Marisa explained, dumping her notebook into her briefcase. “It’s positively late and Edward must be wondering where I am.”

Asriel grunted at the mention of Edward but said nothing as he watched Marisa pick up the golden monkey, who was visibly reluctant to leave as he recovered from his nap. 

“Till next time then,” Marisa offered with a curt nod before hurrying out the door, leaving Asriel lost in thought as he stared at where she’d just been, wishing there was no husband waiting for her at home and that she didn’t have to leave. How unfortunate it was that the first woman Asriel felt anything for had to be married. Life, indeed, was not fair. Stelmaria, having tackled (since the day they’d met) the sad reality of Asriel’s attraction to the taken woman they’d both grown fond of, had gotten up and was rounding the bookcase in search of any works of Grumman.  _ Men were always late to the party  _ she sighed to herself.

“Asriel, are you okay?” Stelmaria teased, not facing him.

“Does the beard really suit me?” His voice was away with fairies, a so-distant whisper that it might as well not have existed.

“What does it matter what I think if it’s already got  _ Madame  _ Marisa’s seal of approval?”

Stelmaria was right, it didn’t matter. Marisa loved it and that was that. Years on Asriel’s beard had grown into one of his most defining features and he’d grown to love it even if the memory of the woman who had first favoured it had long since been soured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought there wouldn't be a next time, Marisa?
> 
> And yes, Asriel was clean-shaven for like the first 11 chapters. Yikes!


	14. And Vice Versa...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marisa presents her findings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say Marisa's season 2 look is just... *sigh* perfection. 
> 
> Her clothes have been growing progressively darker, seemingly from the trailer, ending in jet black. I really think this can only go full circle and she'll [SPOILER] wearing something white in season 3.

I saw myself in you.  
You were wearing my shoes and you knew all the rules.  
You played me by the book that I almost mistook myself for you.   
I know now we were only halves made finally whole with one another's hearts.

* * *

Marisa was in her element. It was evident to Asriel that Marisa's true place in the world lay perfectly at the front of the Retiring Room at Jordan College, enchanting the room full of stiff-necked male scholars who couldn't help but be charmed by the beauty before them. Not only were her findings refreshingly new, they came packaged in those soft ruby lips of hers which spoke with such velvety softness. The lecture was enthralling to say the least.

"This is all good and well, Mrs Coulter," the Master of Jordan College interjected from his seat at the back, "but what do these findings mean? Are we supposed to just accept in abstract that during the Midnight Sun period in New Denmark time just suddenly stands still?"

Asriel noticed as Marisa's face painfully stretched into a pleasant smile. Unlike him, Marisa could not afford to let her annoyance at the rigorous scholastic questioning (much more rigorous than Asriel had ever witnessed before) show on her face. Instead, she was forced to maintain her calm and pull through.

"Well, it could be applicable to -" Marisa started but she was yet again interrupted by Dr Carne.

"This… this..." the Master waved his hand in the air whilst he rummaged through his brain for the term Marisa had repeatedly been using throughout the lecture to refer to the phenomenon in question. "This Adhuc Maris, as you so call it, seems just to be another of nature's wonders. As unexplainable as the indefinite size of our universe. I couldn't see the point in -"

"Maybe so."

The room held its breath. Each scholar's eyes widened in astonishment as their focus shifted from the Master's agape mouth to Marisa's standing frame. Never before had the Master been interrupted, it was unheard of, for he was among the most respected scholars in the world. No less to be interrupted by a freshly-minted female scholar. Asriel silently chuckled to himself as he watched the Master's crow daemon ruffle its feathers in the wake of the disrespect. It seemed that today would break more than one societal norm. To Asriel's deep pleasure, the prideful Marisa he'd come to know remained unforgiving. Holding her head high, she continued without a stutter.

"Maybe so, Master. Maybe Adhuc Maris will remain an abstract, unexplainable phenomenon that will be relegated to the textbooks to gather dust. Maybe it will only be used to satiate the curiosity of another keen scholar sometime in the future." Marisa eyes had been scanning the room to meet each scholar's gaze and had finally fallen on Asriel's, who grinned at her unabashedly. Her eyes creased in similar affection, comforted by the fact that if all the scholars in the room were to turn their backs from her - she would still have Asriel by her side. "But isn't that the element of Experimental Theology?" she continued. "Wild conjectures founded by curious minds in order to further explain or incidentally further confuse our world. And who knows? Maybe one day a scholar will find new meaning for Adhuc Maris. Hadn't the Rusakov Particles set a precedent that no phenomenon could forever remain unexplained?"

* * *

A swarm of black cloaks, grey beards and inquisitive minds formed around Marisa and, The Authority help her, anyone could see she lived for it. It was futile to try and wade through the crowd lest Asriel wished to be squashed within an inch of his life. So he watched Marisa endearingly from the end of the hallway, appreciating how their roles had finally been reversed as he waited for the hubbub around her lecture to die down.

Stelmaria watched the whole display with guarded interest, amused at how Ozyamndias was failing to handle the new attention he was receiving from the scholars' daemons as smoothly as Marisa dealt with the scholars themselves. The poor monkey looked like he was about to drown in social anxiety, his fur disheveled under the stress of it all. His beady black eyes made contact with her grey ones, the panicked gaze he fixed her with calling out for help. Stelmaria looked up to Asriel to see he was still transfixed on Marisa, clueless to what was happening on the ground. On her own intuition, Stelmaria strode towards the golden monkey all the while letting out a low growl to warn the daemons congregated around him of her approach. Like Noah parting the Red Sea, a partition formed and though she could feel Asriel's disgruntled disposition at being forced off the comfort of the wall he'd been slouching against, Ozymandias' thankful smile directed at her made it all the more worthwhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I was surprised at how short this was but it'll all be paid back in due time.


	15. Orpheus' Lyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was done under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reference to Altered Carbon in here if you've ever watched it.

In the natural fashion of things, Marisa found herself back in the Terrace Room at Trout Inn. This time the room was filled with the mellow songs of Frank Sinatra that spilled out from a gramophone that was hidden in a small nook, the music sounding all the more mysterious by seemingly having no source but still encompassing the whole space with its sultry tone. Marisa sat comfortably on the couch, lazily stroking Ozymandias who nestled in her lap. Next to her laid Stelmaria who had joined Marisa in following the erratic movements of Asriel as he circled the room whilst rambling on about the politics of the world. Marisa could have never posited that Asriel was a conspiracy theorist but he stated his theories with such conviction that one felt compelled to believe them to be true. He’d been animatedly trying to convey his belief that the late Pope John Calvin (the last of his kind) had been murdered by the power hungry cardinals in “Geneva” - the Magisterium he meant but it seemed Asriel had a nasty habit of referring to the Church as simply Geneva as an act of defiance. One of his several acts of defiance. But to Marisa, it was laughable that the frail Calvin had been slaughtered by the very men who nominated him. Asriel brushed this aside, stating the cardinals wished to abolish the Papacy in order to administer control as a clergy and Marisa rolled her eyes at this, tilting her head to look down at Stelmaria who met her with equally tired eyes. It was obvious Stelmaria had heard this conspiracy many times before along with other bizarre speculations. Marisa smiled at her out of pity and she grunted in response; at this point, keeping up with Asriel could be considered a professional sport. Marisa threw back the shot in hand in hopes of clearing her brain that ached from the exhaustion of listening to Asriel’s rant for the last thirty minutes.

And he caught on to this.

“You’re not tired, are you?”

“Nope,” Marisa answered, though it was clear she was fighting lethargy with all her might. She jiggled her legs to stir Ozymandias out of his stupor, the daemon struggling to blink his way back to life. “But can we change the topic.” She wasn’t asking and Asriel knew. He matched her with an unimpressed frown but didn’t protest as he watched her lean across the coffee table to drop her shot glass and refill their wine glasses with his favourite golden liquid. He wobbled towards the couch to fall into the only available spot by Marisa’s side, already feeling the effects of his earlier drinks. She handled the glasses with such refined grace, handing him his, clinking the glasses and taking a swig without even offering him a second glance. Asriel often wondered what type of upbringing could produce a woman as equally reserved as confident as Marisa. She was truly something.

“I guess ‘Adhuc Maris’ stuck, then?” Asriel offered as he twirled his Tokay. “You do know I only said it in jest?”

“I know but it seemed fitting.” Maybe it was the liquor, but Marisa’s voice came out as a slow, tempting whisper which reverberated throughout his body like the vibrating hum of a tuning fork. “The feeling you described sounded like a still sea. Void of movement. Motionless.” She dropped her glass on the coffee table, seemingly bored with its content already. They were never going to address how unfair it was that she could never see the fruits of her labour. At this point in their relationship it might as well be sinful to acknowledge the inferior position Marisa would forever have in their world, not due to learned intelligence, skill, or talent but the most inequitable factor - sex. A fact of society fortified by fundamentalist religious practices, male bigotry and plain, old stupidity. No, to Asriel, Marisa was his equal and first among all who believed themselves to be above her. This thoughtful beat passed quietly before his equal twisted round to face him with a smirk on her face. “Besides, now I finally have something named after me.”

Asriel smiled, happy to see her mood lifted. “You could have just waited to have a daughter if that’s all you were after!” he jested.

Her reaction to his words were instantaneous. She clenched Ozymandias’ fur in the most painful of motions. Her blue eyes hollowed with the emptiness of night and out of porcelain skin, hardened lines of maturity edged to the surface. Had he spoilt the moment again? Stelmaria fixed him with an agitated look from the other side of the couch, clearly disturbed by Marisa’s sudden viciousness. What was wrong with what he’d just said? Was she not partial to the idea of children? Marisa was far removed from any women he’d ever known but, undoubtedly, she must have some maternal inclinations. Asriel downed his glass of Tokay before setting it down. He braved looking at Marisa again to see she was stoically trapped in that position, her only movement; the tightening of her grip through Ozymandias’ fur.

What should he do? Apologise. Out of the question, he’d said nothing wrong. Soothe. No, he had no idea how she would react to that. Asriel searched Stelmaria’s face for some unspoken advice. His daemon closed her eyes in concentration and when she opened them, she calmly dropped to the carpet and slowly edged towards the sliding glass doors that led to the terrace.

Asriel got the hint straight away.

“Marisa?” he tried gently. She ignored him. Or maybe she hadn’t heard him. “Marisa?” he tried again, louder. Her hand automatically let go of the monkey’s fur and she frantically rubbed it into the couch material as if repulsed by what she had just done. Was she seriously unaware of what she was doing?

“Marisa?” He was testing the waters again. 

It seemed to take strained effort for Marisa to lift her face to meet him. Her features were stony except for her eyes that pooled like an unbidden puddle of unshed tears. Shame and fear of judgement shaking her interior countenance. Asriel stood up and offered his hand, a warm smile drawn across his face. He could - would - never judge her. She smiled back at him and took his hand, gently carrying Ozymandias in her other hand as she stood up and followed Asriel’s lead towards the terrace. 

Stelmaria, in that mystical way of hers that Asriel never seemed privy to, had slid open the glass door and waited for the trio on the terrace ledge. The terrace looked upon the River Thames, or as it was locally called The Isis, that cut through Oxford and on the embankment, Godstow Priory stood. The building was ghastly, made of plain brick. A hideous sight that displeased Marisa as much as it did Asriel.

“Look up,” he directed.

The midnight sky was not as clear as it had been in New Denmark but the Terrace Room provided the best views in all of Oxford which suffered from its fair share of light pollution. Asriel scanned the sky and was surprised to see an out-of-season constellation mid-October. “Do you see that harp in the sky?”

Asriel watched as Marisa’s focus darted across the canvas of darkness detailed with white pointillism. She sighed after a minute of futile scanning. “I just see stars, Asriel.” 

“You have to look harder.”

“I couldn’t have looked any harder, believe me.” She turned to face him, a pearly white smile gleaming in the night, and arched an eyebrow at him. The next move was his. Asriel rolled his eyes at her childishness but was willing to play along. He moved a bit to position himself directly behind Marisa’s frame. He sensed Stelmaria tense and when he peered at the ledge he saw the snow leopard keenly focused on the escalating situation. Without her heels, Marisa was half-a-head shorter than him and for the first time he could see the girl within the woman. Her body was matured but delicate still, her dark curls a signature style of opulence that hid the baby hairs that lay about her hairline; their nature only being visible in close proximity.

He slid his hand down her right arm and felt Ozymandias shift positions to her left arm, freeing up her right hand by the time his hand had reached it. He lifted their entwined hands up and moved them in the night sky to point her index finger at the brightest star of the constellation in question.

“The star you’re pointing to right now is Vega.”

Marisa chuckled. “You don’t say. I think I can spot our North Star. I am an Experimental Theologian too, after all.”

“Then why did you pretend to -”

“Carry on, Asriel.” He couldn’t see it but he was sure she had a winning smirk on her face. Her flirtatious nature seeping into her words and still he conceded. His index finger trailed down hers to meet its knuckle. He pressed on the joint.

“That's the neighbouring star.” He then mapped the rest of the constellation, going to the knuckle of the thumb, to the base of her wrist, the centre of her hand and and back to the knuckle of her index. It turned out to look like a parallelogram with a stick attached to it but it did the job. Asriel dropped his hand.

“That’s supposed to be a harp?” she joked. “Looks more like a guitar to me.”

“Well, they say it looks like a harp.”

“What’s the constellation called?”

“Lyra.”

“Ly-ra.” Marisa softly sounded out the disyllabic word, flicking her tongue to place an inflection on the end. Asriel noticed Marisa was still pointing her hand at the sky and, randomly, an inexplicable memory of a young girl, much like Marisa, pointing at the night sky rushed into his mind forcing him to swallow an uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat at the thought.

“You know where it is now. You can drop your hand.” The humour in his voice must have flustered Marisa as he saw the side of her cheeks redden as she dropped her hand. She cleared her throat, quickly recovering from her blunder.

“Tell me more about her.”

Asriel was confused. “Who?”

She let out a girlish giggle. “The constellation, silly.” He wished he could see her eyes, he bet they glimmered with humour in the moonlight. 

“Well, Lyra comes from the Greek musician’s, Orpheus’, lyre which is believed to have played such enchanting music that it brought inanimate objects to life and could charm legendary witches.” 

Marisa hummed at this and he heard as her breathing quickened as he snaked his arms around her waist. Besides this though, she stayed still and didn’t react to his increased closeness. How far could he take this?

“But what I like most about the Lyra constellation,” he continued, leaning in to kiss her collarbone, “is that it includes Vega, our North Star.” She gasped as he nipped at the flesh of her neck and he relished the moment as her right hand tightened against his arms. Nails digging into skin. “Our ticket home, our beacon of hope.” His lips moved onto her nape, sucking at the smooth skin. He continued, “Lyra sings a song through Vega that guides us lost souls to the true North.” He licked his way up to her chin, feeling her neck twist and recoil in pleasure. He was in front of her now, only her daemon standing in their way. 

“That’s why Lyra is so important Marisa, she’s our northern song. And she led me to you.”

How far could he take this? 

Further still, Asriel thought as he looked at the woman before him. Marisa’s eyes had long since glazed over with lust. Her iris, indigo with desire. Her left arm suddenly went limp and Ozymandias dropped to the floor on a perfect landing. 

Just like that, Marisa captured Asriel’s lips within hers in a deep, sinful kiss. 

He could taste the Tokay on her lips as he was sure was on his. His mind pondered, as Marisa’s tongue joined the party, if this could be considered as taking advantage of the situation. He knew Marisa wasn’t drunk but alcohol always had a way with tainting one’s rationality, even in small amounts. However, those thoughts were easily dispelled once he felt Marisa grapple with his belt, pulling at the buckle as she backed through the open door. Muscle memory must have served her well as Marisa angled herself in the perfect position to fall onto the plush bed. She had wrapped her legs around his, in an almost primate manner, to force him to join her on the dissent. 

They became a heap of passion, writhing wildly on the mattress. Their first ascension was met clothed and was followed by a more passionate climax folded in a gentler, naked embrace. The events of the rest of the night were blurred. He knew they had fumbled off the bed for some more vodka and the remnants of the wine. He remembered licking the curve of Marisa’s back to taste a concoction of Tokay and sweat which at the time he was not averse to. There was giggling, a stabbing pain in his thigh as he pounded into Marisa whilst she was bent over the couch. The feeling of goosebumps that swept across his skin as a result of the cold wind that came from the sliding doors that remained open all night. A tangled mess of limbs entwined in lavender-scented sheets.

Broken glass, loud moans and more laughter.

Sweet kisses and soft dreams.

* * *

“Shit,” was all that Marisa could think as her eyes scanned the havoc of a room she was in.

What had just happened?

She knew. She knew exactly what had happened, remembered every millisecond of the encounter between their bodies and still disbelief swept over her like a tidal wave. 

Marisa cautiously peeled Asriel’s arm off her waist. He was sleeping soundly by her side, his face a dreamlike bliss. She felt the urge to stroke that beard she was so very fond of but fought against it. At the foot of the bed laid Stelmaria, alone. Marisa was about to query where her daemon had gone before she felt him scuttle, beneath the sheets, up her naked body, to poke his head out from under the sheets once he’d reached her face. He was smiling at her. Did he not understand the gravity of the situation? No, of course he didn’t. He remained as thoughtless as ever. She slapped the chimp down to the carpet and he let out a soft whimper as he fell upon a broken bottle. Marisa’s eyes flared up in panic, fretful that the noise had stirred the dozing duo on the bed. But they remained asleep. 

Too scared to turn on the light lest she wanted to risk waking them up again, Marisa fumbled in the dim of the early morning to locate her clothes and get dressed. As an afterthought, she fished into her purse for the silver master key Asriel had given her. Her fingers finally hitting metal, she pulled the key out and found herself staring at it. It was probably the single greatest gift a person had ever given her, quite literally being the key to her discoveries and, on a deeper level, the key to the heart of the man who lay sleeping on that bed that still called out to her to fall back into its embrace. The key was a privilege she would now have to give up; Marisa wouldn’t want him to have a reason to seek her out. She quietly rested the key on the bedside table and turned for the door. As she opened it, a pang of guilt swept over her. Marisa looked back again to see Asriel still enjoying his mindless dream and wished she could climb back into those sheets with him. 

It felt wrong to leave. 

She belonged here. 

With him. 

In the end, she closed the door and boarded the next airship back to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all I know, Polaris might be in the North Star in Lyra's world but for the purpose of this fanfic - it's Vega. Also, Lyra is so fitting to her constellation's mythology. Like the golden compass is the inanimate object she’s able to bring to life and she is able to get the witches on her side.
> 
> Next chapter, next Saturday.


	16. Sin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mea maxima culpa, kyrie eleison, peccavi nimis. 
> 
> Through my most grievous fault, Lord have mercy upon us, I have sinned too much.
> 
> \- Hellfire: The Hunchback of Notre Dame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer/Trigger Warning: It's in the tags but this chapter deals with suicidal thoughts and actions. It's not too explicit but just a heads up if you do struggle with this. You're loved and you matter.

Marisa attempted opening her bedroom door as quietly as possible, tiptoeing barefoot, heels in hand, as Ozymandias padded in behind her. But with all her precautions Virginia, who laid at the foot of the bed, stirred from her sleep at the sound of Marisa’s arrival. It was hard to make out in the dark bedroom but Marisa thought she saw the hedgehog scamper across the length of the bed to wake up Edward. Perfect. Just what she needed right now, Marisa sneered to herself.

“Darling, you’re back.” Edward blinked, hurriedly trying to adjust his eyes to the dark. “What time is it?”

Marisa wasn’t even sure. She knew she had boarded the 2:35 am airship from Oxford to London and that was about it. 

“Never mind,” Edward said after a silent pause, it was clear his wife did not have an answer. He tossed in the bed as he reached for the bedside lamp.

“No, leave it off!” It came out more abrupt and panicked than Marisa had intended. She knew if the lights were on she would be met with a perplexed Edward and a suspicious Virginia. “I can change in the dark. I’m getting into bed anyways,” Marisa offered in the manner of an explanation. A rubbish one at that.

“Are you alright, Marisa?” The concern in Edward’s voice was painfully evident. It hurt to know that at her home there was a man who cared for her, who was good to her and it still wasn’t enough for her. A decent man and a decent marriage hadn’t been enough for her. She had to go and fuck everything up.

She didn’t trust her voice to respond. Fearful that her response would encompass a quiver or waver that would entitle further questioning. Instead, she undressed in silence and slid her naked self under the sheets. Her daemon hadn’t even bothered to climb in with her, instead opting to rest by the bedpost - probably in an attempt to avoid Virginia. The cunning thing could read Ozymandias’ mannerisms like an open book.

Marisa closed her eyes and opened her eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut and they flipped open again.

She tried to sleep to the rhythm of Edward’s deep breathing. She tried to sleep to the monotonous task of counting sheep as they jumped over a fence. But whatever she did, her mind wouldn’t rest. It spiraled at thoughts of Asriel. His scent, his voice, poured through her. 

And it hurt.

It hurt because she had most positively sinned and she could feel the berating glare her mother would give her if she knew what she had done. Marisa’s heart ached as she lay next to her husband, a man who’d do almost anything for her and still she wasn’t satisfied. Her eyes burned at the realisation that she’d crossed a line that no longer existed. She could no longer turn back. Somehow she’d fallen in love with Asriel and that love … she had thoughtlessly consummated. Or perhaps it was better to say thoughtfully, for she could not even pretend to herself that she was ‘under the influence’. She had inwardly screamed _I want this!_ with a clear mind when she kissed Asriel and, even now, she still wanted him. 

Her past life could no longer suffice.

“Edward.” She shook him vigorously. “Edward.” And he woke up for the second time that early morning.

“Mmmm. What is it, hon-” As soon as he turned around, Marisa latched onto him. Aggressively pulling at his boxer, not even affording him time to catch his breath and properly come to. She felt him reach for the lamp again so she grabbed his arm, shoving it down the sheets to her heat before he could flick the switch. They never had passionate sex before but today would be their first. 

Marisa had initiated this thinking it would be just punishment for what she’d done. Believing that over-exerting and offering herself to Edward’s sexual desires would negate her adultery and help her atone for her sin. But even as she aggravated a lustful violence out of Edward whilst she bit at his earlobe and scratched her nails across his back, all she saw in the dark of the bedroom was Asriel. The sensation worsened once she finally closed her eyes. From then on she imagined it was Asriel who thrust into her, Asriel who pulled at the flesh of her curves, Asriel who she climaxed to. It would have been Asriel's name that echoed throughout their bedroom to accompany Edward’s constrained groans had she not bit into the linen bedding in her last valiant attempt to dispel Asriel from her thoughts. 

It hadn’t worked.

Asriel still ravaged through her blood like the beast he was and remained there, banging at the chambers of her heart in time with the ‘lub dub’ of her heartbeat long past the time Edward had fallen asleep again. Asriel flamed within her. She was a sweaty mess for him.

Marisa needed cold water… on her body… now!

She slid out of the bed, avoiding Ozymandias who had stayed by the bedpost - alone - throughout the whole ordeal. Their daemons could not be more detached. She tiptoed to the bathroom and the golden monkey followed behind her. Lo and behold, Virginia didn’t wake up this time. Typical, Marisa just had bad luck the first time. She still closed the en suite door before turning on the light just in case. The white tiles provided a clinical setting as the light reflected off them, the perfect atmosphere set for Marisa to examine all the damage that had been dealt to her body over a single night.

There were blotches everywhere. Her skin, a dalmatian of ivory white and bruised red. There were scratches about her thighs and hickeys that climbed up from her breasts to her neck. Well at least Asriel had had fun. Or was it Edward that did this? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the fun for her had stopped once she’d left the inn. She absentmindedly scratched at a love bite on her collarbone. Now, she was claimed by two men. The marks repulsed her, she felt like a whore. An undeniable rage rumbled under her strained countenance, her ears burning a furious red under the harsh light and her eyes dryly stinging. She scratched harder. And her daemon hissed at the sensation. Had she no shame? Could she be any less pious? Was this her Jezebel-like fall? No. This felt like just the start of a slippery downwards slope. Deep within her soul, Marisa knew that there was more bad to come. The marks itched relentlessly and she scratched at them until crimson liquid flowed.

Great, now there was blood too.

She stoppered her bathtub and ran the cold water tap. Once the tub was a quarter empty, she closed the tap and climbed in. The icy water melted away her anxieties. All the sweat and sex slid off. Maybe this was it, maybe she could wash it all off and start again. Erase this night and the series of unfortunate events that had ensued over the past few hours and be born again. The idea blossomed in Marisa’s mind and before she knew it, she’d forcefully dunked her head under the water and administered the second baptism of her life. But the longer she stayed underwater, the longer she had to ruminate over her options; she couldn’t help but wonder why it had to stop there. She could take this further still.

Milliseconds turned into seconds. 

Marisa closed her eyes, finally finding herself at peace underwater. The outside world was nil, her thoughts were mindless, empty of anyone.

Seconds turned into minutes. 

By three minutes, Marisa could hear asphyxiation calling out to her. The effort of remaining forcefully submerged about to pay off. 

_Almost there._

She slipped through.

Ozymandias cannoned into the bath, howling out in panic. It was only his fighting alertness that kept the pair of them grounded on Earth. He pulled at Marisa’s fingers which tightly gripped the tub to no avail. Then he tried to lift her head out of the water but found that it was stiff as a board. He started to feel the sluggish caress of the void pull at him and in a frantic last attempt, he dived to the base of the tub to yank open the drain stopper. 

If it weren’t for the high pressure drainage system that had been installed in the Coulter residence when the newlyweds had first moved in, this would have been the final chapter in the 'Tale of Marisa and her Golden Monkey'. However, as it turned out, destiny had more in store for the duo.

Marisa choked, sputtered and gasped her way back to life. The back of her head cried out in pain and once she regained awareness, she realised that her whole body laid limp at the base of her bathtub. All the water had been drained and in between her legs she saw Ozymandias who gazed up at her with a worried look. His fur was sodden and a murky brown instead of its usual glittering gold.

Why did he stop her? Why did he help her? After all she had done to him, the way she had treated him, the ends she had pushed him to. Why did he still find it in himself to care? His torture at her hand could have ended here, they could have peacefully exited this world. But no. Was it self-serving self-preservation or a selfless act of love? Marisa would never know. The mute devil just stared at her, his black bug-like eyes holding no answers. Her soul had long since gone silent, leaving a soulless woman to roam this Earth. 

Marisa would have cried herself to sleep if she could but her eyes were dry and unable to give rise to tears even for her pitiful self. Instead, she was left staring at the white ceiling with her wet daemon clutched dearly in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bridge4 on YT did a cool theory video on Marisa being soulless and that's where I got the idea from so creds to him.
> 
> PS: Editing in the night is such a vibe.


	17. The One Where Marisa Avoids Her Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another car ride with Edward and Marisa.

The hum of the engine and the soft breathing of humans and daemons were all that could be heard as Mr Coulter’s town car rode through the London streets. Mr Hubert, as per usual, kept his eyes on the traffic but even driving couldn’t distract him from the eerily quiet atmosphere within the car. Not that the Coulters often spoke during these rides but the frigid coldness the two were projecting made the Scottish Fold (Hubert’s daemon), who sat in the passenger's seat, let out a long, drawn-out meow in discomfort.  _ Speak! _ , Mr Hubert screamed inwardly.  _ Someone, please, speak. _

“Congratulations,  _ Mrs Coulter _ .” 

Mr Coulter’s voice was the one to finally put an end to the heavy silence. His tone was light with adoration and as Mr Hubert peaked at the rearview mirror, he could see a broad smile plastered onto his master’s face. Seconds before, Edward had turned the page of his morning paper and was surprised by the two-page spread he saw. A blown up image of his wife surrounded by a group of explorers, all male, in front of a large stone-fronted building was printed in full colour on page eleven. All faces glistened in the bulb of the camera, the air of celebration palpable. While on page twelve, the image was coupled with a lengthy article called - and Edward quoted the article’s title here - ‘Meet the Dark Horse of Experimental Theology’. This dark-maned beast of the night being his wife, Marisa. 

“What are you talking about, Ed-” Marisa paused once she had completely turned around to face the two-page spread Edward keenly held out in front of her. It was her inauguration day into the Royal Arctic Institute. She grabbed the newspaper from Edward. Blue eyes hurriedly scanned page twelve as Marisa ate up the words, ingesting the article three times over. The journalist seemed incapable of praising Marisa without bashing all other female scholars, likening her ascension and renowned acceptance into the male-dominated scholastic world to finding a diamond in the dirt of female scholastic mediocrity. But Marisa’s ambition glazed over all that was wrong with the article as her ego bloomed like green algal pride over her prior pond of humility.

“It seems like someone has finally gotten the recognition they rightly deserved,” Edward commented lightheartedly. “Oh Hubert, I forgot to tell you.” More like boast, Mr Hubert thought. “Marisa here is now the newest member of the Royal Arctic Institute.”

“Oh good, sir. That’s great news.” All drivers had perfected the craft of giving ingenuine remarks.

“Not just great, Hubert. Exceptional. Do you know how very few women are ever even given admittance into the R.A.I? Let alone membership”. 

Marisa fleetingly observed how her husband was more chuffed about news now than he had been a week ago when she’d initially informed him of the new development but she dismissed the thought as she went about reading the article the fourth time round. She scanned for any grammatical error, misleading facts or improper spelling that might draw from the first article (of hopefully many) on the brilliance that is she. The article continued:  _ The document that is spreading like wildfire amongst scholars is entitled ‘Evidence of Adhuc Maris in Upernavik, New Denmark’ … _

Mr Hubert pulled into a parking spot in front of the College of London.

…  _ , a joint paper…  _

Edward moved to open the door, in order to let Marisa out, before spotting a couple of men having a heated discussion by one of the pillars outside the college.

_ … written by Mrs. Marisa Coulter and… _

Edward could recognise that gruff face anywhere. “Why, isn’t that Lord Belacqua?” 

* * *

Tokay. Stars. Kisses. Sex.

Love. Shame. Guilt. Self-harm.

* * *

Memories and emotions Marisa had endeavoured to outrun the past two weeks had finally caught up with her. They surfaced in such a rush that Marisa felt the urge to throw up. The ideal reality she had constructed in her bathtub, where the events of adultery and an unyielding love for another man did not exist, shattered in an instance. The glass shards laid on the floor of her conscience, reflecting images of that fateful night. She could no longer escape it; it stared at her straight in the face.

“Marisa, aren’t you getting out?” Edward dragged her into the present. Marisa’s eyes flicked up to see confusion dancing around his features. Her eyes then rolled to the tinted window behind him, to see the devil himself several metres ahead. Marisa wasn’t ready to face him. Not today at least.

Think fast. 

She suddenly let out a soft chuckle and met Edward with a humorous smile. “I’m such a silly person,” she laughed, tapping her forehead with exaggerated effort. “You wouldn’t believe me but I just remembered now that I arranged to visit my mother this morning.”

“Your mother? Today?” Edward questioned, quite disbelieving that his wife would willingly visit any member of her family, least of all her mother.

“Yep.” Marisa, not wanting to waste any more time, leaned towards the driver’s seat. “Hubert, Delamare residence.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mr Hubert brought the town car back to life as he swiftly pulled out of their parking spot. Her husband’s confused brows had relaxed by the time Marisa felt calm enough to face him again but she could still feel the mist of suspicion that swirled around him. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that, honey?” She was on the defensive. “I need to see my mother. You know how her health gets sometimes. I just need to make sure she’s alright.”

Edward didn’t say anything. Instead, he twisted to look back at the diminishing college building before staring down at his daemon who rested on his lap. Marisa didn’t even dare entertain ideas of what was probably racing through her husband’s brain at that present moment, only bothering to turn to face him again when he tugged the newspaper out of her hands. 

“What’s this?” Edward pointedly gestured to a hole that had been ripped out of page twelve. However, he didn’t have to wait for an answer as both their attention dropped to Ozymandias who was playing with a perfectly balled piece of paper on Marisa’s lap. The golden monkey put up a fight, much to Marisa’s embarrassment, but eventually she managed to release the paper ball from her daemon’s grip and un-crumpled it.

“It’s just an edge piece,” she sighed dismissively turning back to the window and winding it down.

“What does it say?

“The name of the paper I wrote,” Marisa said as she chucked the paper out the open window. “Nothing more.”

Mr Hubert couldn’t help but steal another look into the rearview mirror. This time he could just about make out the warning glare Edward was giving Marisa and the fake, oblivious smile she responded with. Another look and he saw the pair gazing out their respective tinted windows. 

Perfect, the rest of the car journey was bound to be shrouded in silence again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asriel's back next chapter.


	18. Dial 6 for Venus, the Goddess of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our lovers reunite. But for how long?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unnecessarily long but I like it so it's staying that way. It's a mixture of heavy fluff (which Masriel lacks - deservedly so but still) and deep moments. Have fun reading.

And don’t forget I’m-

I’m just a girl…

Standing in front of a boy...

Asking him to love her.

-

Anna Scott: Notting Hill

* * *

Asriel had been the one to call Marisa. Asriel had been the one to arrange their meeting today at Oxford’s Botanic Garden. He was the one who couldn’t cope with pretending that nothing had happened, with the evasion, strained small talk when necessary and cold indifference when it wasn’t.

Asriel had been the one to chase after her. 

Being the weaker one of the pair always left a bitter aftertaste.

The idea of trailing after Marisa like a lovesick puppy repulsed him. This wasn’t the usual treatment he got as a Lord; women usually threw themselves at him and he had to be the one to sever their clingy obsession. Going through the motions in reverse wasn’t pleasant at all. He’d even tried to play it down by arriving ten minutes later to the meeting spot than they had agreed to on the phone but she turned out to be a step ahead, arriving a whole twenty minutes after him.

“What if I had left?” he asked as she sat down next to him, her daemon hopping from her lap, to his and finally the ground next to Stelmaria. Despite the show of athletics, she wasn’t impressed, choosing to swat Ozymandias in the face with her paw as if he were a pest. Asriel grinned. Atta girl! Both he and Stelmaria seemed to be on the same page today which was as rare an occasion as seeing Marisa nowadays. The lady in question was less pleased by the interaction, her lips pursed into a thin line.

“If you’d left, that would’ve been it.”

“I’m sorry, I was already under the impression it was over.”

“It should be,” she muttered.

Despite this, it was clear as day that it wasn’t. Unfinished business hung in the air and they both knew it. Marisa sighed as she leaned back into the bench taking in the view. Rows of wild flowers lined the footpath in front of them leading to a fountain which intercepted another footpath that was alternatively lined with hedges. She looked onto the idyllic scenery serenely.

“This place is beautiful but for the life of me I don’t know why you chose to do this here.” 

Asriel couldn’t tell if the comment was directed to him or if she was just thinking aloud but it was preferable to an awkward silence.

“It’s open. It’s public and peaceful. Hard to get angry at you here.”

She smirked at that. “What? Is this your go to place to de-stress?” She may have found it funny but he didn’t. He looked down to see Stelmaria had relaxed onto the ground and was successfully feigning disinterest in the primate beside her as she closed her eyes. Marisa reached over to pick up her daemon in a moody huff, acting like a petulant child, after realising her comment wasn’t going to get a rise out of the man beside her. Asriel hated to admit it but rather than being cute and endearing, the sulky look Marisa was currently sporting was irritating - making it a lot easier for him to maintain his blank face of indifference. 

“Fine, be like that.” Marisa conceded, busying herself with grooming the golden heap of fur on her lap. They sat like that for minutes on end. The metal armrest between them, a physical representation of the wedge they’d arrive to in their relationship. How things had evolved. From acquaintances to friends to lovers. From Lord Belacqua to Lord Asriel to Asriel. But then it seemed Marisa had always been Marisa to Asriel. Somehow he’d known where things were going to go when he first met her, it was all a matter of letting fate play out. These kind of messed up situations were inescapable; they'd been decided long ago by forces beyond their understanding. Hilarious as it was, the pair of them could’ve been considered star-crossed lovers and had Marisa not been married, theirs would’ve been a classic love story. Evidently, fate would also have it that their love would not be of the classical style.

“I should probably leave.” 

Asriel turned to face Marisa. How long had they been sitting like this? It felt like an eternity. He sneered. 

“Like you did last time?”

“I was removing myself from a situation that you took advantage of,” Marisa rebutted. Asriel didn’t expect she’d try to play the victim. That was so, so low.

“Marisa, you kissed me,” he hissed.

“After you suckled on my neck,” she hissed back.

“Haven’t you walked away from that before?” 

Marisa’s eyes widened. The theatre. “That’s totally unrelated. I was drunk this time.”

“Marisa, don’t do that.” Stelmaria finally gave up on her pretense of sleep and stood up, now totally invested in the unfolding argument.

“Do what?”

“Lie. You weren’t drunk.”

“How dare you tell me what I was and was not?” Her blue eyes darkened to a deep navy as she grew enraged at the accusatory language Asriel was throwing at her. Yet she still managed to maintain her hushed yet impassioned tone.“I’m telling you I was.” Marisa was gripping at the material of her trench coat and it was only then that Stelmaria noticed Ozymandias wasn’t on her lap anymore. Or anywhere in the vicinity for that matter. Asriel had noticed it too, staring at the hand that clenched her coat, instead of what usually was her daemon’s fur, in an attempt to reign in her anger. It didn’t take long for Marisa to notice what the pair were staring at and what they had realised. She quickly relaxed her fingers, smoothing the creases she’d formed on her coat. She didn’t know what to do. It was painfully obvious to them all that her daemon was much further than believed humanly possible. All she could think to do was to divert their attention.

“Fine. I was sober. I knew what I was doing.” 

Asriel slowly lifted his head. He looked at her with a mixture of fascination and disgust and before she knew it, her eyesight had begun to blur as her eyes pooled with tears. She feared he saw her like how most would if they knew, like an abnormality, inhuman, as far removed from humanity as the Zombi. But she refused to cry in front of him, closing her eyes in an effort to hold back her tears, willing her daemon to come back. When she finally opened them again Ozymandias had returned, a bouquet of wildflowers within his grasp. He laid them before Stelmaria and sat on his hind legs, awaiting her response. The snow leopard looked up to Asriel, giving him the luxury of choice this time. Their next move was his. His forehead was furrowed, wise lines marking his skin as he processed everything. Marisa actually started to fear that Asriel would decide to leave but her worries ceased as he slipped his fingers into hers. With that Stelmaria playfully knocked the golden monkey’s snubbed-nose with her paw and all was forgiven.

Almost.

“I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry.”

He was looking down at their entwined hands, his grip tightening around her hand. Not in a painful way but in a way that told her he never wanted to let go. “I know you are.”

“I didn’t want to leave you, Asriel.”

He let go of her hand just then but only due to a family passing by. Nonetheless, once they were gone, his eyes met hers and he smiled.

“I know, Marisa.”

Asriel had accepted her, peculiarities and all.

* * *

**For the next couple of months the pair managed to meet with growing frequency. Although they never seemed to learn how to break the vicious cycle of sex, anger and regret, distance and reconciliation; they shared enough happy moments for them to be longingly relieved years down the line.**

* * *

Marisa by now knew the insides and outs of Asriel’s London home. Thank The Authority he had a backdoor entrance or else suspicions would have been raised amongst Neighbourhood Watch.

She sat with Asriel in his study, leafing through papers they had borrowed from the Inventory Room. Marisa was looking for research that she could conduct a follow up project for. Nevertheless, even though she had read the paper countless times before, she found her attention arrested by Asriel’s paper on the manganese-titanium alloy, that had since been renamed by the Magisterium the ‘Maystadt anbaric scalpel’. On the other hand, Asriel had devoted himself to dust. Anything and all things dust. 

During these long reading sessions, the pair often ordered takeaway and at the shrill sound of the bell, their takeaway ritual commenced. Marisa locked eyes with Asriel who had looked up from the paper he was reading. She watched as his eyes edged to the end of his desk to focus on his wallet. Marisa’s fingers slowly loosened from the sheets in her hand.

Game on.

She sprang from the armchair. Her daemon, on instinct, diving into her handbag for her purse.

As Marisa made a dash for the door, Asriel lunged for his wallet before slipping under his desk to catch up with her. Stelmaria had moved to the study door, now chuffing at her. Marisa hated this part. Usually, she’d wait for Asriel to run past her so she could slip through with him but today she felt bold and instead decided to vault over the feline. Luck on her side, Marisa landed safely in the corridor. She turned round to see Asriel’s astonished face and she childishly stuck her tongue at him, happy to have successfully turned the tables. The race was already won, Marisa made it to the main door first and opened it to the smell of fresh pizza. 

“How much do I owe you?” she asked the delivery boy. 

The kid blushed at the sight of Marisa, this probably being the first time he’d delivered pizza to a flushed woman in her twenties. 

“£11.99, miss,” he stammered. 

The old Marisa would have probably corrected the boy, making her marital status clear. However, now, being married didn’t carry the same appeal as it did then. She was so young. To be honest, she was more excited now by the fantasy of singlehood than the reality of marriage and that disillusionment was all due to Asriel. 

“Give me a sec, my purse is coming,” she reassured the young boy.

“I think not.” Asriel had appeared behind her and handed the boy a crisp £20 note. “Keep the change.”

How the hell - 

Marisa poked her head back into the house and saw her daemon as he tussled with Asriel’s in the corridor. Great, the score was now Asriel, six; Marisa, nil. She felt Asriel lightly pinch her back to get her attention. Her head flicked round to the delivery boy who shyly held the pizza box towards her. She collected it with a smile.

The boy grinned. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks. We will,” and with that, Asriel slammed the door on the kid. He then picked Marisa up from behind causing her to squeal with delight. 

“The pizza!” she cried.

“Naughty, naughty Marisa. Flirting with that poor boy. You know that’s a criminal offence, right?” Asriel jested, blowing a raspberry into the curve of her neck.

“I wasn’t flirting!” Marisa gasped between her giggles.

“I think punishment is in order. To the bed it is.”

Marisa laughed all the way there.

* * *

It was midday, though it wouldn’t seem so if one was to go by Asriel’s bedroom. The curtains had been pulled, the lights turned off, leaving the space to be illuminated by only a few candles dotted across the room. 

Asriel stood with Marisa on his rug, their arms wrapped around each other; both of them softly swaying to the alto sound of Ilene Woods’ ‘So This Is Love’ which flowed from his gramophone to fill the space. Marisa was dressed in one of his blue shirts that hung over her body in an over-sized manner - making effeminate what was once masculine. It suited her. He felt as her hands snaked down his bare back, nails lightly scraping at his skin before resting on the waistband of his boxers. 

However, Asriel wanted the moment to last.

So he took one of her hands abruptly, entwining their fingers into a clasp. Then lifting their joined hands, he spun her on the spot. 

She giggled.

He loved the sound. He spun her in reverse and she giggled again. He then allowed her to catch her breath while watching her face, crinkled in joy, slowly relax into its usual porcelain perfection. She was mesmerising. He used one of his legs to swoop both of hers off the ground, eliciting a short gasp from her as she lost her balance. However, his free arm came to the rescue as he caught her in her dissent and dipped her with practiced perfection in time with the last note of the song. 

Her shock broke into a smile and he grinned back at her.

He would never let her fall.

* * *

They had lost track of time inside the College of London’s library. It was at least half past eight when they’d finally left. It was cold outside, winter now in full swing. Marisa had come dressed for the morning season, which told lies of autumn warmth and hence was now shivering with only a cardigan to keep her warm. Asriel wordlessly took off his coat and wrapped it across her small frame as they stood on the pavement, their daemons at their respective sides as would befit  _ friends,  _ waiting for a black cab to pass by so they could hail it down for her. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Asriel queried, watching as Marisa tucked her arms into his coat properly. 

“And give Edward more reasons to suspect me. No, thank you.”

“Troubles on the home front?”

“A minor hiccup,” Marisa said this being unable to face him, “it’ll pass.”

Asriel couldn’t see how it could possibly pass unless she put an end to this affair but decided against voicing his concerns, he didn’t want to spoil what had been a good day. Anyway, she was probably aware of the truth of the matter as much as he was. She moved her hands, which she had been warming with her breath, to stuff into the warmth of his pockets only to pull out a zine. He watched her as she spent a few seconds flicking through the colourful pages before looking up at Asriel questioningly. 

“Is there something I need to know?” Her eyes gleamed in the night as she heard a stumble creep into his response.

“I… I found it a few days ago and I just never got round to binning it.”

“Oh, there’s no need to bin it. Matter-of-fact, I loved these when I was a kid. My brother and I would collect them all the time. This one even has a ‘Get To Know Me’ quiz at the back.”

Asriel tried to detach himself from the embarrassing situation by keeping his eyes peeled on the road for any passing cabs but Marisa persisted.

“Now this is a good question. Never have you ever…” she looked at him expectantly.

“What?”

“Come on, answer the question. Never have you ever…”

She was seriously going through with this. Asriel rolled his eyes but relented nonetheless. “Never have I ever… lets see. Never have I ever been in bed with a witch.”

He thought it would elicit a response from her - why would he even want to sleep with a witch? - but was proven wrong when she just brushed his comment off as she mumbled “You and almost every other man on this green Earth”. No judgment that he would even think of that, Asriel was surprised. But then again, they’d passed the time for judgment a long time ago. He thought she’d stop the questioning there. 

She didn’t.

“I know this. I know this,” she remarked as she filtered through the questions. “Ohh here’s one. Do you have any nicknames?”

Asriel couldn’t help but indulge her. “Lord Asshole. Jerkface. Ariel. All gifted to me by my first girlfriend,” he said, offering Marisa a winning smile.

“Ariel?” she questioned.

“I used to have long hair when I was a teenager,” he explained, “and she didn’t like it much.”

Marisa took a serious glance at him before nodding her head in understanding. “Yeah, I think this haircut suits you best.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Okay, next question.”

“No. I think I’ve had enough from you.” Asriel snatched the zine out of her hand. “My turn. Ah, here’s one. Do you have any tattoos?”

Her answer was instantaneous. “Leviticus 19:28. Plus, my mother would kill me. You?”

“Tell me a place where I can get one then come back to me!” 

Asriel scanned the small prints again before falling on the best question of the lot. He cleared his throat as if he were a game show host, taking his time to clearly enunciate his following words. “Marisa, do you have a lover?”

Marisa’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish underwater. “I skipped that one on purpose,” she whined. “You’re being cruel. Give that to me.”

“No. Answer the question, Marisa.” Asriel danced the zine away from Marisa each time she reached for it. By luck though, Marisa caught onto it. She tugged as he tugged, leaving both of them with a half of what was once a whole. Marisa stared at her half.

“Ooops.”

When she had returned his coat the next day, he found a different zine in his pocket. This one dated ten years back.

* * *

“What’s this?”

Marisa lifted her blue eyes to meet Asriel’s. His features were set in an earnest manner as he nudged forward the royal blue velvet box he held out in front of her. The intensity of the moment made Marisa chuckle halfheartedly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“You’re not proposing, are you? I am a married woman after all.” Albeit begrudgingly.

Asriel remained silent but he did at least offer her a small smile at her comedic attempt. 

She gently lifted her fingers to smooth over the soft velvet material, her breath hitching slightly as she reached the latch of the box. Unsure of what to expect, she raised her face to look at Asriel once again but all he did was calmly stare at the box - his breathing leveled and even. Sighing, Marisa flipped open the latch.

On a plush cushion rested a key. Its beauty and bright yellow shine was unmistakably that of pure gold. The baseline of the blade was lined with small diamonds that ended at the tip of the key with a final sharp glittering crystal. The key was looped onto a gold chain that was threaded with blue silk and on closer inspection, Marisa could see a cursive ‘ _**M** _ ’ inscribed into the bow of the key. It was elegantly bewitching. She was speechless.

“You forgot it in Oxford.” His voice came out as a low husk as he placed the box in her open hands. “I thought it was only right to return it to its rightful owner.”

She watched as he picked the necklace up and unclasped it before snaking his arms around her to close the necklace about her neck. It was heavier than she expected. He landed a light kiss at the back of her ear before pulling back, grinning in admiration at the sight he saw. Marisa had yet to look up, bewitched by the pendant. What were the odds that even though the new key had been decorated to be sported as a piece of jewelry that it was still -

“Is it functional?” she spoke aloud.

Asriel suddenly roared in laughter, startling Marisa. “Pardon me,” he followed up, considerate of her now flustered countenance, “but trust you to still value functionality above all else.”

“I -”

He pulled her into a soft peck on the lips, his grin dissolving into continued laughter against her mouth. “Yes, Marisa. It’s still a master key. It’ll open anything.”

* * *

Another day, another night.

Pitch blackness began to shroud the London skyline earlier every evening; its darkness encroaching. However, in the manner of those so deeply lost in love, the change in season and it’s wintry warnings had gone unnoticed by a certain couple. The pair believing the haven they’d built through seeking solace in one another would be enough to weather any storm.

So, Asriel walked along Albert Bridge with Marisa - their daemons lagging behind - in comfortable silence. The bridge was laced with small anbaric bulbs across its entire structure; a sight only present in the late hours of the day which in turn softly lit Marisa’s face that would have otherwise been lost to the dark. 

He’d no idea why they were here. 

They’d been walking for minutes on end. Asriel had aimlessly followed Marisa’s lead and as a result they’d ended up here. Apart from cars, the bridge was desolate, only the four of them gracing the footpath.To be honest, they hadn’t spoken for so long that he couldn’t be sure Marisa was still aware he was still here. She did this sometimes. Her eyes would glaze over and become transfixed on a certain point in space whilst her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts silently running wild. Then, suddenly aware she’d gone somewhere else, she’d ground herself back to reality and dismiss the whole haze with a frigid look. 

Asriel was almost certain this was one of them times. But like the true scientist he was, he thought he ought to test his theory out. He abruptly stopped walking, standing stock-still in the middle of the bridge as he watched Marisa carry on ahead.

She didn’t stop.

Not even when Stelmaria and, to Asriel’s surprise, Ozymandias had paused by his side. She kept going, five metres, ten metres. Soon she wouldn’t be able to hear him if he called out but just before she passed that threshold, she spun around. The black sparkly number she wore - that had quickly become Asriel’s favourite albeit rather tastefully over the top - glittered in the bridge’s spotlight. Her beauty was ethereal. As she walked back towards him, she swayed between edging close to the cars zooming across the roadway and the edging towards the parapet. Then, in a split second, she settled for the parapet and rushed towards it with such determined speed Asriel was sure she sought comfort in the murky waters that lay below. He reached out for her, twisting her frame in his arms with a feline agility he hadn’t known he’d possessed, accidentally ramming the small of her back into the metal railing. Her daemon yelped at the force of the impact but Marisa’s face only hardened, mistaking his protective action as one of aggression.

What was she playing at?

Was this a desperate cry for attention? No, that wasn’t Marisa’s style. She may look sweet on the outside but he knew deep within the depths of her heart there was a sour bitterness she tended to alone, a bitterness he could only imagine surfacing when something was wrong. So…

“What’s wrong, Marisa?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” As she peeled his arm from her waist, her lips slowly stretched into one of her creepy smiles, those that were so sickly sweet they left a bitter aftertaste. She pulled his hands up across the front of her dress and snaked his large fingers across her small neck, her fingers tightening against his as to strengthen his hold.

“You’ve been so silent tonight, Asriel.” Only because she had also been. “So placid.” This was just a kettle calling pot black. She leaned into the metal railing, her grip still ever so tight on his hand but her grimace turned into a playful grin. 

“Kiss me. Kill me. Do something.”

There was only one option Asriel was interested in and it became official; they had done it everywhere. Even on a desolate bridge solely lit by anbaric bulbs in the dim of night.

* * *

Love hotels were primarily characterised by their neon lights. The room Marisa found herself in with Asriel was not an exception. The theme seemed to be fuchsia pink but after innumerable rounds the room had lost the element of daylight and had instead turned a neon red. Marisa liked the way the coloured light reflected onto them, their skin now painted a blood red while their hair grew a deep wine. They looked so far withdrawn from their normal selves that they might as well be incarnates of a different species. The thought consoled her. That maybe in this alternative world, where red beings existed, they could take a different path and live a new life that destined them to be together forever. 

Asriel talked of different worlds too. A Republic of Heaven. A place where people could live good lives without being under the control of The Authority. Marisa could only see the notion for what it was, a pipe dream. They’d do much better trying to change the world they were in instead of imagining unrealistic ones and Marisa told him just as much but he brushed her comment away with such conviction that she almost began to doubt herself. Sure, she could internally agree that their world was already lost no matter how much she outwardly begged to differ - sin was everywhere, it even laid with them. But the idea that they could hope for something else, some place else ... was impossible. 

Anyhow, they hadn’t come here to argue over their differing ideologies and so they resumed their favourite pastime. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with them. Marisa watched as Asriel slowly drifted to sleep, resting her head on his lightly-haired chest. She softly kissed the skin beneath her and sighed.

“Why must all good things end?”

* * *

**The answer to Marisa’s question was that destiny had decreed it so and as it turned out, that night would be their last for sometime as she was nowhere to be found after. Not at the College of London, not at the Arctic Institute, not at Oxford. It was as if that night had been Marisa’s final act in a magic show, a disappearing act perfected through misdirection as Asriel had never imagined their affair coming to an end. Never felt the need to wrestle with the thought for them being together felt so right even though it was sinfully wrong. It felt so good. But then again ...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you noticed the dramatic irony and/or the 'Luther' reference, gold star!


	19. All Good Things Must End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asriel struggles to cope with Marisa's absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two HDM trailers that were dropped this week are my new lifeline. I just know every scene Wilson is in is going to be amazing. I literally can't wait for November! Only two months left! XD 
> 
> (Good work people considering we started this journey sometime in May I think. DW, I'll take us to the promise land.)

Y tan solo con poderte mirar | And just being able to look at you

Hago mi fantasia | I make my fantasy

De tenerte y adorarte | To have you and adore you

Desnudar tu piel mi amante | Bare your skin my lover

Porque tu me vuelves loca de amor | Because you drive me crazy with love

Tu me provocas corazón | You provoke my heart

Yo no tengo es una obseción | I do not have an obsession

-

Loca: Alejandra Guzman

* * *

“Do you still think me overdressed?” 

“I was under the impression you’d come here to get some work done.”

Marisa stood in the middle of the darkened study, the room solely illuminated by the moonlight that flooded in from the window behind a seated Asriel. The celestial light shimmered against the black sequins that adorned the backless halter-neck dress Marisa wore. She looked like the night sky. Stars glistening across the inky void of her body that was sharply contrasted by her skin that appeared a deathly pale in the Moon’s light. His gaze roamed to her face, blood-red lips broadened into a sultry smirk. The Seductress. Her eyes, a murky lake of lust, were fixed onto his as she bent her knees and slowly descended to the floor. She was now level with Ozymandias, the pair on all fours. He heard Stelmaria purr from a shadowed nook; glowing eyes the only thing apparent from her corner of the room as she intently watched the centre stage performance.

“Well…” Marisa waited until Asriel’s eyes fell back on her before she continued. “Twilight had long since passed.” She and Ozymandias began to crawl towards the desk. “And I went through great lengths this evening to escape Edward.” They crossed the boundary of moonlight, Marisa’s voice now a whisper in the dark. “I thought I might as well make all the effort worthwhile.”

The golden monkey abruptly jumped onto the desk, taking a seat right in front of Asriel and maintaining cool eye contact with him. Marisa, however, did not reappear; instead, she progressed under the desk towards her desired reward. At the touch of her, Asriel instinctively wanted to look down but Ozymandias let out a deep grunt making it clear that Asriel’s attention was to remain above the wooden top as Marisa continued her ministrations down below. As per the Seductress’ request. Yet, she did not relent and when it all became too much for him, he pushed his seat away from the desk as to provide him with some relief lest he finish too quickly. After composing himself he looked down to see Marisa grinning at him, pleased with her handiwork. She pushed his chair further still and used the increased space to snake her arms up his crisp shirt only to hook them about his neck and hoist herself up, straddling his lap. 

“Better than work?” she asked, laughter in her speech. 

“Much better.” He began to wrap his arms around her voluptuous round but she quickly dropped her hands to stop him, alternatively moving his arms to the back of his chair in order to restrain him. Asriel attempted lunging for her lips instead but she pulled back before he could reach them. He watched, slightly embarrassed, as she arched a suggestive eyebrow at him, silently laughing to herself at his eagerness.

“Easy tiger. Let me,” she breathed.

So this is how she wanted to play it. Asriel would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Marisa’s dominant side, it was a refreshing difference from his usual escapades with the other sex. He leaned into his seat whilst Marisa rubbed her smooth cheek against his rough beard, breathing in her essence that drifted from down below. She marked his neck with a nip at the skin and then soothed it out with a lap of her tongue, a relaxed moment, to only be followed by aggressive sucking at the site that elicited a strained moan from him as his arms jerked in her grasp. But her hold did not falter, instead nails dug harshly into his palms making him moan once more. Asriel thought Marisa was going to continue this torturous tease for a few minutes longer only to be surprised as he felt her start to ride his pillar that still stood erect. However, the grind was slow, painstakingly so that he felt his irritation disperse into the room as a low hiss from Stelmaria. Marisa only smirked at this and continued her unhurried treatment until - suddenly - she paused, removing her mouth from his neck and turning to face the door.

“Did you hear that?”

It was the main door but Asriel did not care to acknowledge it, more concerned about his throbbing desire. His voice was low as he tried to reach for her lips again.

“Ignore it.” 

It was too late. She slipped off his lap and followed her daemon as they padded towards the closed door to rest their ears against it. 

After a couple of seconds... “I think it is Thorold. I can hear Anfang yapping in the corridor.”

“There,” Asriel huffed. “Mystery solved. Come back now.”

But Marisa was already opening the door. “I’ll just go check. You can never be too sure.” She smiled as she glanced back at him, observing his dejected face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

All good things must end.

* * *

Asriel lazily rubbed at his lids, willing the drowsy effects of his prior slumber to depart. It seemed that he had fallen asleep whilst reading in his study… again. The scene had become quite familiar. He would be awoken by external sounds from a blissful dream that starred Marisa in all her sinful glory. Provocative. Alluring. The Marisa he loved knowing. But in the harsh reality he’d awakened to, Asriel had to painfully come to terms with the end of all things good after suffering two months in search of Marisa, only for the mission to end up futile. She was gone. Vanished into thin air. She’d expertly ceased her existence in his life, pulling the switch on their relationship with lethal intent. What hurt more was that he knew she was still in London. He’d run into scholars who would divulge the insightful discussions they’d had with Marisa concerning ‘X article’ and ‘Y paper’. Asriel would call her private line for it to ring but remain unanswered. He’d sense remnants of her presence wherever he went. If he visited the Inventory Room, he’d see a few documents discreetly hidden at the back of the bookcase - her signature message that she wished for them not to be removed. But even if he stayed all day and all night holed up in the circular room, Asriel would never see her. It was like she had a sixth sense, a way to evade him without him knowing. Stelmaria had quickly grown tired of his efforts and disgruntled every time Asriel dragged the pair of them to Oxford in hopes of bumping into Marisa. With every disappointing venture, she would ask him when would he be prepared to give up and, truth be told, Asriel wasn’t sure he ever would. Had he dabbled into other pleasantries in the meantime? Yes. But he failed to see how that differed from what Marisa was doing, she now being content with being at home to service her husband. Asriel would never admit to a damaged ego or yield to the idea that sex with him wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Instead, he chose to rebuild his confidence elsewhere. Sure, with time, he’d be able to hide his feelings under the cover of work, booze and women. But those feelings would just lay dormant, waiting to flurry into life at the sight or sound of Marisa.

Asriel had just got to work on burying his emotions when his foundations of denial came tumbling down. Thorold, his servant, had returned from his trip to Jordan College on Asriel’s behalf to collect a few books kept in Dr Carne’s private library. 

“All the books you requested for, sir.” Thorold announced in his way of greeting as he entered the study, his pinscher daemon, Anfang, bounding in after him. Asriel tried to ignore the middle-aged man but his attention was torn away from the page in front of him as Thorold, all but discreetly, struggled to squeeze the hardback journals into an already packed shelf.

“Just put them over here,” Asriel sighed as he pointed to a free spot on his desk. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Once the task had been completed, Asriel could still feel Thorold’s eyes on him. Yet again, he tried to ignore the man but Thorold’s stare felt like an itch that Asriel could only relieve if he faced it head on. Reluctantly, he laid the article on the desk and looked up. Flustered from being caught in the act, his manservant’s eyes darted to the floor.

“What is it, Thorold?”

“It’s nothing, sir. I just thought you’d want to know that I ran into Mrs Coulter today.” Asriel leaned into the conversation. Thorold, sensing his master’s interest, lifted his eyes to meet his master. “She was on the airship back from Oxford,” he explained.

Asriel’s face soured into a scowl. The last thing he needed right now was Thorold reminding him that Marisa was out there, gaily living her life to the fullest whilst avoiding him. Especially not now when he had finally started to get over her. The scholar resumed reading the article.

“If that’s all -” Asriel started.

“That’s not all, sir.” Thorold’s voice was rushed and agitated, like he had a ball of information stuck in his throat that he wished to cough out but couldn’t. Asriel met him with a death stare.

“Well, spit it out then.”

“There’s been a development. Mrs Coulter is pregnant.”

Asriel’s new foundations. Obliterated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Marisa looking a lot like Isabella Rossellini in Blue Velvet wearing the same black, sparkly dress.


	20. What We Never Got To Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate brings our star-crossed lovers together again... but, of course, things have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Streak broken but we move. 
> 
> Sorry about not updating yesterday but here it is.

Baby, I’m thinking it over

What if the way we started made it something cursed from the start?

What if it only gets colder?

Would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart?

-

Waiting Game: BANKS

* * *

It was a pure coincidence that Asriel ran into Marisa.

His hunt for her had grown more aggressive after he’d been informed of her new state. It didn’t take a mathematician to put one and one together. She’d been ardently avoiding him and she was pregnant which could only produce one plausible answer. It would take otherworldly factors to convince him that the child wasn’t his. But as his quest for her continued into what must be by now her seventh month of pregnancy, if his calculations were right, his hope of ever seeing her again began to dwindle. It was common knowledge that by their eight month, esteemed pregnant women were expected to enter two months of seclusion until their baby was born and had been safely nurtured into its first month. This custom placed further time constraints onto his search which Asriel could not afford and hence he tried everything in this power to find her. However, Marisa’s private line was still a bust and her visits to scholastic institutions noticeably diminished as many scholars remarked on the female emptiness that encompassed the buildings as Marisa, who they’d all grown quite fond of by now, slowly withdrew from public life. All hope seemed lost. That’s why when Stelmaria had spotted Ozymandias at the local gymnasium as Asriel exited his usual fitness suite, he could hardly believe his luck.

Fate was really at play.

The golden monkey was loitering away from Marisa who was quietly talking to what looked like a yoga instructor in front of a dance studio. Neither had spotted them. Marisa looked much like her normal self, her hair tied up into a messy bun with some brown curls escaping the mound. She quite literally glowed as her skin, layered with sweat from what must have been an exhaustive workout, reflected the anbaric light. Even in pregnancy, Marisa was beautiful. The only difference lay in the gap between her spandex sports bra and leggings where a sizable bump protruded. Asriel very much doubted Marisa uncovered it bare in a proud display of her pregnant state but more as a method to show the externality for what it was. An unclothed, unloved, unwanted mistake.

“She’s about to leave,” Stelmaria mumbled and she was right, if the hugs and smiles were anything to go by - the conversation was coming to an end. 

It was now or never.

Asriel walked with speedy intent towards Marisa. Ozymandias was the first to spot them and for the first time, instead of hurrying towards Stelmaria, the monkey scampered to hide behind Marisa. The woman’s eyes flashed towards him in an instance but it was too late, he was already next to them.

“Marisa. It’s been too long.” It was an understatement.

The instructor turned around to see Asriel and flustered by the charming smile that graced his face, she stumbled back into Marisa. Asriel quickly moved to steady the woman lest she brought Marisa down with her.

“Pardon me,” he started once the instructor was balanced again, “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m awfully clumsy.” She proffered her hand. “Jessica Martins.” She was a typical blonde Asriel noted as he replied with his name and title. She had emerald eyes and a slim build that had been perfected in this very gym. But next to Marisa, Jessica was like a prop to further exemplify Marisa’s beauty which shone stronger still in her pregnant glow. Even so, Asriel wasn’t slow to notice the green snake of jealousy that had wrapped around Marisa’s fair features at the attention he was giving the instructor and he couldn’t help but add further fuel to the fire.

“Why! What a beauty!” His comment was directed at the albino peacock that was trying (and failing) to engage Stelmaria in conversation. As everyone in the group’s attention fell onto the daemon, the peacock became emboldened and spread its clustered feathers in a grand display. Jessica’s face burned a bright red and Marisa had to turn away to stifle a laugh. Even Asriel struggled to maintain a straight face. The daemon quickly flapped its feathers together again realising how huge a blunder he’d made in openly displaying Jessica’s internal desires for Asriel.

“Sorry. Oscar doesn’t usually do this.” Jessica mumbled, her eyes fixed on the ground in embarrassment. “You know what, I was just about leaving. It was nice to gain your acquaintance Lord Belacqua. Till next time Mrs Coulter.” Neither daemon or human looked up again as they made their quick escape. Once they’d left, Marisa arched a knowing eyebrow at Asriel. 

“What! I couldn’t help myself,” he offered, matching her with a cheeky smirk.

As they stood grounded to the spot, the atmosphere between them shifted for the worst. What had felt like a reunion between long lost friends rapidly bittered as the gravity of their situation descended. Asriel’s eyes fell to her bump, which looked even larger with this proximity, to only lift his gaze to her face again. It was the first time he’d ever seen her visibly tired. She was emotionally exhausted. Her voice sounded so strained when he finally heard it after four months of silence.

“I’m going to go change. We’re not doing this here.”

* * *

For the first time, Marisa appreciated the favourtism policy practiced at Le Grand Plaisir. This evening it provided the privacy she needed as she sat across from Asriel in a reserved nook far away from the bustling tables, creating enough distance to shroud the contents of the conversation that was bound to ensue with much needed secrecy. Marisa had played with the idea of going to the Inventory Room or even Asriel’s house but a seed of doubt within her told her that she could no longer trust herself around him. Her lack of self-control had gotten her to this point and though the maximum punishment for her prior actions was already growing inside of her, she still felt the need to take precautions. However belated these precautions were.

Asriel had attempted small talk a couple times but was met with cold, unfeeling eyes. It was unsaid between them but she knew what he did. What he’s been doing. The word Belacqua had now fallen from everyone’s tongue as tales of a lord obsessed with nonconformity, heresy and - most importantly (to Marisa at least) - the female sex had transcended from ladies’ gossip to men’s talk. Did she bother to acknowledge what had probably driven him to such desperate, attention-seeking ends? No. Instead she willfully misinterpreted the jealousy within her as repulsion at the fact that she was still carrying the child of this unfaithful recusant; his betrayal stinging like an infected wound in the depths of her heart.

_ He’s been fucking other women. _

So as they waited for their food, the silence between them was filled with the French singles that spilled out of the live band on the other side of the restaurant and thanks to her mother’s insistence on language learning, Marisa was able to enjoy the tunes in full. Unfortunately though, the songs were all forlorn and set a depressing mood that couldn’t be salvaged even once their meals had arrived. Marisa poked at her flamiche, uninterested in the fillings tucked within its puff-pastry and, absentmindedly, she reached under the table to stroke Ozymandias’ comforting fur only to be met with the round of her now clothed bump. Her hand recoiled back to the table top in disgust. Oh, how often she’d forget about the grotesque thing that had booted her daemon out of his rightful spot on her lap. She scanned the wooden floor for her daemon and saw him playing with Stelmaria, attempting to hit her paws before she withdrew them from his reach. But the golden monkey lacked his former zeal and failed each time. Both of them were just too exhausted nowadays to even try. Her food continued to grow cold as her attention shifted back to the music. She recognised this tune; it was ‘Hier Encore’ by Charles Aznavour. His lonely voice wafted all the way to their nook, telling the tale of a missed youth and Marisa couldn’t help but think the song was all about her.

* * *

Asriel had decided now was the best time to address the elephant in the room. He’d watched as Marisa had grown increasingly agitated as he finished the bottle of Tokay the waitress had left on their table on his own. All the while she would look longingly at the golden liquid, following it on it’s journey from the bottle to Asriel’s wine glass then finally watching it trickle down his throat in time with the bobbing of his Adam's apple. It looked to him that Marisa stopped herself from indulging not out of any consideration for the baby - their baby - but just so their ever attentive waitress wouldn’t catch her drinking. Asriel had, painfully, come to learn that Marisa prided herself on her reputation above all else. Drawing liquid courage from the wine, he took one last sip before he sat the glass down.

“It’s mine, isn’t it?”

She didn’t look up. She just continued to stab at her pastry. “I couldn’t say for sure.”

“But you have enough belief in the possibility that you saw fit not to tell me and instead avoid me for months,” he retorted, trying to keep his anger at bay. Anger wouldn’t help solve the mess they’d found themselves in.

“Like I said, I can’t be sure.”

He sighed, leaning in a bit closer over the table. “Suppose the baby came out without a strand of blonde hair and features in strong resemblance to mine, what would you do then?”

Marisa dropped her fork, finally giving up on the venture of eating anything. She leaned back into the chair and readjusted her position with an exhausted groan, pushing her plate away from her as if it made her sick. She took several heavy inhales and soft exhales before looking up at him but even with her control measures, the blue balls of her iris still floated in a pool of tears. She let out a quick gasp and shot her head up to stare at the ceiling, blinking furiously before any tears dared fall. When she looked down again her eyes had cleared but her voice was still raw with emotion.

“If that happens, Asriel,” she paused at a loss for words, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

There it was. The tragedy of their situation. The ‘what will be, will be’ notion stung in the air but, despite its acrid taste of finality in doom, Asriel would not accept it. He rebuked it.

“We could plan a fail-safe. A getaway, if things do take a turn for the worst.”

Her face contorted into a cynical look as she stressed each word of her following response. “And how could we possibly do that? I’m having a home birth so once the nurse opens the door, it’ll all be out in the open.”

_ And that was it! _ Asriel thought. During home births, it was only the woman and a trusted nurse in the bedroom. Family had to wait outside. They could use that to their advantage.

“What if we planted a nurse who knew about the situation? A gyptian nurse at that. I know one that works on one of my estates outside London.” The ideas came to Asriel at lightning speed and rolled out of his mouth just as quick. “If the baby is mine, we can instruct her to bring the child to one of my country estates and when the child is strong enough, we can move them to Caledonia. I have friends and family there, the laws are more lenient in Caledonia too and the Magisterium has a weaker foothold. They’d be safe there and it would afford us time to sort out things here.”

Marisa had withdrawn into a nest in her mind as she processed everything Asriel had proposed. “Right now, I can think of a few problems within your master plan just off the top of my head. Like how the hell the is nurse going to move a crying child past my whole family?!” Her voice rose as she spoke, distancing itself from the hushed level they’d been keeping their conversation at all this time. Stelmaria sat up and darted her head around the open space, checking if they’d caught anyone’s attention. Thankfully, the live band seemed to have blanketed Marisa’s raised outburst under their mellow acoustics.

“She can pretend the baby is dead. Smother its cries with a blanket, I don’t know.” Asriel grunted, not enjoying having to be the one to come up with solutions to every problem Marisa brought. Surely, this was supposed to be a team effort. Wasn’t that the element of parenting? Currently, it felt one-sided. “I heard a small minority in a gyptian offshoot actually drown their stillborn children in the River Thames; we could use that as a cover. A reason for the nurse to hurry away after the birth.”

Marisa let loose a mocking snigger at the idea. “Fine, as ludicrous as it, suppose that works. How am I supposed to convince my mother to accept me using a gyptian nurse? She’s already chosen a Nightingale nurse for me.”

“That’s something you just need to pull off, Marisa.”

She scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. “This isn’t going to work, it’s too dangerous.”

“And yet, right now, it’s our only option.” Asriel shot back. “Unless you have a better idea?” 

Marisa curled her lip, still unwilling to accept the facts of the situation so he tried again. 

“Marisa, I don’t know about you but I’m not going to allow my child to fall into the hands of Edward or the law or the Church for them to do whatever they want with them. I’m going to protect mine.”

Marisa sat back into her chair once again, her demeanor now perfectly calm and this swift change in countenance shook Asriel to the core. Her pearly white teeth were exposed as her blood red lips stretched into a devilish smile. “You’re so confident  _ it’s _ yours, aren’t you? What if  _ it’s _ not? What if _ it’s _ Edward’s? Would you be disappointed?”

The manner in which Marisa referred to the baby she was carrying as ‘it’, a thing, was truly repulsing. Asriel had seen glimpses of this side of Marisa - a cold, detached fiend. He saw it in the way she clutched at her daemon’s fur all too aggressively, the way she smiled sometimes (more like a sardonic grimace) and the painful distances she could exact between herself and her daemon. This soulless alter ego of hers seemed to lay dormant in a pool of grim darkness that festered and bubbled with internalised self-loathing and exhibited itself as the malevolent will to do conscious harm to others. In that split second, Asriel worried that the worst hands his child could possibly fall into was, in fact, Marisa herself. The thought was only passing, though.

“Do you want it to be mine, Marisa?” he questioned his vulnerability finally laid bare at her feet. “Or would you rather it to be his?”

She was mercurial. Her features evolved again, this time downcast. Her maliciousness was gone. Her stony armour had been attacked and through that crack the scared but loving girl within the strong, unfeeling woman shone through.

“I think you already know the answer to that, Asriel.”

* * *

The last time Asriel heard from Marisa before their D-Day was over the phone well into her period of seclusion. Night had fallen as he sat at the island of his home’s minibar, servicing himself to a cocktail of any drink that was at hand. Thorold had picked up the telephone, which rang in the corridor, and brought it to Asriel.

“Mrs Coulter for you, sir.”

Asriel collected the object and waited for Thorold to leave the room before he lifted the receiver to his ear. It was a pointless act, Thorold seemed to know everything even whilst being told nothing. The wizard in him.

“Ughhh,” Marisa sighed, “Thorold’s voice is so soothing. Miles better than that Eleanor girl.”

Asriel grinned into the phone. “You’re the one that advised me to get a new househelp.”

“And it’s a good thing you heeded my advice. She was a bad egg.”

“Was she now?”

They were effortlessly distracting themselves from the insecurity around them. Somehow, whenever they were in each other's company, they were able to carve out a world in the existing one just for the two of them. Solace in meaningless conversation and banter. Asriel was soon distracted from her voice though as he heard an owl hooting in the background.

“Was that on my end or yours?” he questioned.

“Mine.” He heard Marisa chuckle to herself. “Look at me. I’m walking about in my garden, running away from my family in my own home. Who would have thought it would get to this?” She didn't wait for him to respond as she rambled on. “Definitely, not me. The dignified reputation I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl and worked some many tiresome years to craft, now hanging by the tenuous thread that this folly actually pulls through.” A pained groan escaped her.

“Marisa!” he called into the receiver, irrational panic washing over him.

She took several deep breaths.

“Marisa. Marisa,” he repeated. “Is everything okay?!”

“Yeah.” She drew out one long exhale before properly composing herself. “It’s just a Hicks contraction.”

“You sure? Sometimes it’s not.” Unwittingly, he had trodden on a nerve.

“Yeah and how would you know?” she grumbled. “Have you ever been pregnant?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Asriel amended. “I just…”

She sighed. “It’s fine. It’s me. I’ve been treating this thing like a parasitic worm for months; it’s only in these last few weeks that I’ve actually come to terms with the truth of it all. Accepted the fact that I am actually having a...” Asriel heard Marisa slump into a seated position, “having a baby.”

They shared the weight of their reality together in silence. The moment was both infinitely small and cataclysmically big. How many pregnant mothers and expectant fathers have walked this earth? How many of them shared a similar silence? If they were to amount all the seconds of shared quietude would it amount to months, years, decades or an eternity? It felt like a bottomless fall into parenthood, both of them positively unsure if they would even be any good at it. The child might possibly be better off orphaned than in their care. That was another option, Asriel thought, if it ever did get to that. The silence was finally broken by Marisa. Her voice, a whisper.

“I’m scared. I don’t want to do this alone.”

It was the first time he’d ever heard her cry. The first time she’d let herself cry in front of him even if he wasn’t technically there to see it. Though it was messed up to admit it, the sound of her crying was the purest sound he’d ever heard her make. In its melancholy melody, Marisa’s vulnerability and heart was finally disrobed. She was human, just as much as he. Her tears called for the most human of responses from him and though he’d never done it before, Asriel apologised.

“I’m sorry.” He apologised wholeheartedly. “I’m sorry, Marisa.” And he earnestly begged for forgiveness. “Forgive me.”

She’d stopped the waterworks with one last whimper. “Forgive me, too.”

“For what?”

“For whatever I might do if this goes wrong because you should know that…, despite it all..., I truly do -. Oh, fudge.”

“What is it?” 

“The kitchen light just turned on. It’s… oh crap, it’s my mother.”

“Marisa, is that you?!” Asriel heard Marisa’s mother cry from the other end of the line. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I’ve got to go.” Marisa offered hurriedly. “Bye.”

She hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was she going to say?
> 
> Next chapter, next Saturday (I promise XD).


	21. D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve has entered the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on track with posting.

Any description of the pains of labour could never do the actual event justice.

It was a million times worse… and then some.

Marisa had passed the latent phase of her labour whilst taking slow laps about her house throughout the late evening, which was when the first bouts of irregular contractions arrived, into the night and up until the early morning. Edward and her mother had tried their best to stay awake with her, following Marisa up and down the stairs, around the dining table and through the various rooms. But often enough one or, at times, both would succumb to a seated position and doze off, only to rejoin Marisa a couple hours later. The only person that fared the entirety of the sleepless night with Marisa was the gyptian nurse, Maggie Costa. Bless her.

Maggie was a slight but, by no means, delicate woman. A few years Marisa's senior, she was rough-edged and confident, proud to wear her figurative medallion as a 'Gyptian Woman' about her neck. Her hawk daemon, Jal, loomed over their every move; his protectionist behaviour in regards to Maggie painfully obvious. At first sight, Marisa had feared she wouldn't get along with the nurse Asriel had matched her with, the woman's plain-spoken manner seeming to be a tough pill to swallow. However, the initial displeasure shared amongst the Coulters and Madame Delamere at the spirited woman soon faded as they grew to appreciate the boisterous disposition Maggie possessed which filled the night with hilarious anecdotal stories of her life. During their time alone, Maggie would run over what was to happen once the child had been born and Marisa soaked up the information the best she could during her haze of pain, the absurdity of it all still amazing her.

Established labour hit Marisa like a freight train. Her water had broken on the landing as she was held upright by both her mother and Maggie. The gyptian nurse had observed that now was probably a good time for her to take Marisa into the bedroom and get her more comfortable for what was to come. Edward had given his wife one last embrace whilst her mother whispered a few last reassuring words, already giddy with excitement and was probably planning on calling round family and friends once Marisa was out of sight. Oh, how Marisa hated to disappoint but today might just well be a first.

Maggie had helped Marisa experiment with a few positions. Anything on the bed had speedily been eliminated and the pair soon decided a rotation between all fours and leaning against the bedposts was their best option. Ozymandias remained inseparable from Marisa, watching her with concerned beady black eyes whenever she groaned in discomfort. The poor thing looked like he wanted to trade places with her but, as fate would have it, this was a cross Marisa would have to bear alone.

All she could do was curse Asriel for this.

This lonely, unwanted pain that ruptured through her body.

The gyptian had tried to distract Marisa during the steady pushing stage with stories of her son, Tony, who'd been born around this time a couple of years back, but it soon became evident that Mrs Coulter was no longer listening. The contractions had become too strong, clenching her uterus like a tightened fist and holding the position for up to a minute at a time before relaxing only to return minutes later. Eventually, Marisa could no longer find the strength to walk or talk. She found herself as a hyperventilating mess on the carpet, grime and sweat coating her skin as she gripped onto Ozymandias' hand. As often as possible she tried to push through her contractions even though Maggie advised her there was no rush and she should only entertain pushing if she felt the urge. To Marisa it felt like she always had the urge, like there was this huge load inside her waiting to be crapped out. The sounds she was making must have started to worry the nurse as she suddenly gave up trying to soothe Marisa through the ordeal and turned to something else for help.

"Hang in there, I've got something for this," Maggie said as Jal, her hawk, swooped from his perch on the wardrobe to fly between basins of warm water and towel piles to reach the gyptian's kit bag that was perforated with inch-wide holes for today. Jal pulled the bag by his beak towards Maggie from which she picked out a small vial.

"What's that?" Marisa let out in a huff. She was on all fours again.

"I'm not sure, really. A herbal blend, maybe?" Maggie uncapped the small container and passed it to Marisa. Ozymandias moved to sniff it only to recoil at the stench. "All I know is that it works."

"Is it safe to take it all?" Marisa questioned as she collected it, staring at the leafy sediments that floated about in the liquid.

"Depends on how much pain -" Maggie stopped as she watched Marisa down the whole bottle in one go, only to gag and shake her head as the aftertaste set in. "Yeah, it tastes like hell but you should be feeling better now," Maggie smiled, "It's quite instantaneous." That was putting it lightly, Marisa thought, what had been a set of stabbing knives lining her pelvis had subsided into a humming ache.

"Why didn't you give me this earlier?" Marisa felt good enough to rise a little and kneel against the bedpost.

"It slows down dilation so it's best to save it until the end. On that point -"

Marisa groaned. Another vaginal check-up. This part had to be the most embarrassing part of the whole process, topping the ear-piercing screams that erupted from her mouth during contractions and her tottering around in a half-naked state.

"Please tell me I'm near?"

"Are you comfortable with your position, ma'am?"

Marisa turned to see Maggie had layered the floor around her with towels and was currently dipping a few towels in warm water.

"Erm, Maggie... what's happening?"

"You're crowning. Just keep doing what you're doing and I'll instruct you on any changes when needed."

Ozymandias had propped himself onto the bedpost to meet Marisa eye to eye. His expectant eyes examined her face and she watched as the golden monkey's brows furrowed as she let out a constrained sigh. The pain was slowly starting to return, not as bad as before, but noticeable. To distract herself from it all, Marisa turned to observe the gyptian as she pulled out items from her bag. A couple clamps. A piece of gauze. A scissor which she sterilised with some alcohol. All laid out on a small board. The last thing she pulled out was a glass bottle of clear liquid which she used to saturate a small towel.

"It's the general anaesthesia I told you about." Maggie must have felt Marisa's eyes keenly on her. "It's a low concentration. Should only knock the child out for ten minutes at the most."

The whole procedure they'd planned out sounded much more clinical when voiced aloud, so far detached from the natural process of childbirth it felt like Marisa was putting her baby under the knife before it could even make a sound. No, it didn't feel like that. That was quite literally what was about to happen. The whole situation was so fucked up.

She swayed against the bedpost as another contraction hit. She couldn't wait for this to be over. Maggie took another look and then advised her to stop pushing and take some short breaths, exhaling through her mouth, the less intensive movements allowing the baby's head to come out as gently as possible to prevent tearing. Once the head was out, Maggie then told her to push through the remaining contractions as the rest of the body slid out. Marisa felt herself escape the finale of what had totaled to be almost eleven hours of labour as Ozymandias gripped her fingers in solidarity, maintaining eye contact with her until it was over. The only signifier of the end had been when Maggie ceased telling her to push and the quietness that befell the room.

No shrill cry of life.

Marisa had stolen that rite of passage from her child.

Her first of two sedative acts against her child unbeknownst to her.

She crumpled onto the towels on the floor as Maggie handed her the baby that was still bound to her by the umbilical cord. Marisa placed her index finger under its button nose and sure enough, by the tiny puffs of warm air that curved around her finger, the child was alive. It was bloody and covered in gunk. Its baby hairs glued to the scalp; a full head of dark brown - not blonde - hair. Marisa needed no further proof, she already knew the truth of the matter in the depths of her soul. But her conviction was strengthened as she slowly cleaned the dozing baby with one of the warm towels Maggie had handed her. The baby looked nothing like Edward and barely even took after herself, bearing most of its features to Asriel just like he'd predicted/cursed the child to do. The only thing Marisa had found that bound the child to her was its sex for, as it turned out, it was a girl.

She was a girl.

With brown hair and what Marisa could only suspect were blue eyes behind those closed lids. She looked so peaceful asleep in her arms. An angel. Marisa's heart swelled with love and adoration for the small human in her arms. She was perfect; Marisa could not imagine a child more perfect and as she watched the currently daemon-less girl sleep, she felt an unnatural urge to never let go but needs must...

"The cord has stopped pulsing." Marisa had forgotten Maggie was even in the room. "I'm just going to go ahead and cut it now. You don't have to do anything."

Once the string that held them together was broken a disillusionment with her daughter started to brew within Marisa. The maternal rush of love had faded and thoughts started to collect in her mind as the girl's daemon slowly started to manifest beside her, its first form being that of a pure white ermine. For reasons unknown to Marisa, seeing her daughter's daemon was her undoing. She began to cry unprovoked as she stared at the pair of them. Her love for them slowly being poisoned with feelings of shame, guilt and self-loathing. The child, by no fault of her own, was a living embodiment of Marisa's failure. Of her inability to maintain control. She was a painful reminder of how she melted under Asriel. A culmination of all the events that had led to this present moment and Marisa could not bear the memories that flooded into her as she looked upon her daughter. It hurt Marisa to call herself the child's moth-. She couldn't think it. Her eyes shifted up to look at Ozymandias who gazed at the trio from the bed, his face unreadable. Marisa couldn't even tell what emotion she was feeling right now.

"I'm sorry," Maggie apologised as she gently removed the baby from Marisa's weak embrace. "We should get going. The anaesthesia isn't going to last for much longer." She picked up the ermine too and wrapped the pair in a soft blanket before placing them into the holed bag.

Marisa didn't have the will to fight it. She listened to life play out around her whilst she remained slumped on the soiled towels beneath her as if she was no longer the main character in her own story. She heard Maggie and Jal exit the bedroom after offering a solemn goodbye, both baby and daemon secretly in tow. She heard Maggie break the news to her family who waited outside the bedroom. Her mother wailed in anguish, rushing into the room to comfort Marisa whilst Edward had collapsed to the ground by the door and let out constrained sobs. Marisa heard hushed whispers outside, others must've arrived. They were all offering their condolences but the words fell on deaf ears. Tears streamed down her cheeks on their own accord but Marisa could not understand why as she felt nothing. She remembered being moved to lay on the bed, family and friends all about her bedside grieving with her. However, she had left the constructed event of grief and loss that surrounded her. Her heart, mind and soul were with her daughter - wherever she was now. Marisa both longed for her and repulsed her. It was a toxic mix of emotions that swelled inside her. She remained catatonic on the bed for the rest of the day, struggling to work through her emotions but one thing remained on her mind.

She never got the chance to name her daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it would be quite cool if daemons manifests after the umbilical cord is cut. Like the cord is the final symbol of a child’s dependence on their mother and once it’s broken the child is free to become their own person and have their own soul.


	22. Edward's Hubris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The costs of male pride are finally revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but leads us nicely to the two part finale.

Gunshots pierced the air as Maggie belted across the open fields towards the main house. In her arms she carried a crying Lyra and Pantalaimon who she’d hurriedly wrapped in a long white blanket as she ran out of the cottage they’d been occupying. She cursed the decision now as she struggled to keep the excess material that hung loose from her grip from tripping her up. In her wake was Mr Coulter. Yet, he was not the gentleman she’d met a week prior at the Coulter residence. No, this man was a changed being. A beast harbouring only hatred for the child in her arms and that hatred had manifested itself into the will to kill. But even in this situation, fraught with death, Maggie still had reasons to be thankful to The Authority. Firstly, Edward’s daemon being a worthless little hedgehog had enabled her to escape the cottage as Jal flung the daemon across the hallway, bringing her pursuer to his knees. Secondly, Mr Coulter being a talented politician could no longer compensate for how terrible a marksman he was as every bullet fired missed them by at least a metre. But Maggie knew that it was only distance that proved the biggest problem to Mr Coulter and was hence relieved once she’d made it to the main house.

“Lord Asriel!” she called once she had locked the door. “Lord Asriel!”

There was no response. Dread began to set in. She was quite sure she’d seen him this afternoon. Had he gone hunting?

“Thorold!” She was running up the stairs now. “Lord Asriel! Thorold!” She interchanged between the two names but to no avail. No one responded. 

The house was utterly empty of anyone.

Over Lyra’s persistent cries, Maggie could hear Mr Coulter as he struggled with the main door. Great, going downstairs and out the back entrance was no longer an option. 

“We should hide,” Jal advised.

Maggie looked at her daemon disbelievingly. Lyra was currently crying her heart out with no possible means of quieting her, if they hid her voice would still easily give out their location. But with no other option, she heeded the advice as she heard the main door smash open, running into the nearest bedroom to hide in a closet even if it was only to lengthen their eventual demise.

Or perhaps not. 

Fate had to be on their side as Maggie heard Lord Asriel’s thunderous voice tear through the house.

“Edward!”

“You … you bastard!” Edward’s voice roared in response. “You’ve ruined everything!”

It was followed by a gunshot. A muffled scuffle. Bodies crashing against furniture. A feline growl. Two shots in succession, a double tap. Then, finally, silence.

Maggie held her breath as Lyra’s cries, which the gyptian still struggled to contain, led the survivor to their hiding spot. “Please don’t hurt us. Please don’t hurt us,” she whispered to herself, praying her assailant was dead and that it was instead Lord Asriel that was nearing them.

As the closet door opened, an unexpected wave of tears flooded from her eyes as it was indeed her master on the other side. And she smiled despite herself; The Authority had answered her prayers even if it was just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughh, we’re nearing the end already! I can already tell I’m going to miss this.


	23. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial gets off to a dramatic start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has suddenly turned into a courtroom drama and I live for it.
> 
> Edit: Forgot to mention there's a Jane Eyre reference in here (more like a Rochester reference) for anyone who can spot it.

One of the stipulations of the late Mr. Coulter's much loved Seven Articles was the abolishment of the King's Court. Now all prominent cases, save those that concerned heresy which were instead handled by the CCD, were to be tried in Church Court. So, thanks to the valiant efforts of her late husband, Marisa sat beside her counsel in front of a former friend, Bishop Augustus (the judge for the London Church Court), being tried today not for her crimes which totaled at none but her sins which were aplenty. The irony of it all was that the 'Article to Restore Religious Justice' was her favourite out of all seven Articles and the one she'd supported with the most rigor. How it had come to stab her in the back!

The trial itself was a shit show.

A televised piece of nonsense which had taken London by storm as it was the first time a lord had been tried in court after the new bureaucratic changes. The salacious news of the affair had spread amongst the capital's elite and each day Marisa would be guided through the crowd that had gathered outside the building only to see familiar faces queuing up in hope of getting a seat in the public gallery. The starring role in this melodrama had been casted to the Church Prosecutor, Mr. Curtis Keating. He was a dog with a bone. In a manner which seemed comical to Marisa, he and his Akita daemon had rolled out a parade of nearly everyone Marisa and Asriel knew onto the witness stand. Some seemed eager to take the seat while others appeared to be more reluctant, the scholars often bound by ecclesiastical law to make an appearance. Nevertheless, many, as Marisa soon came to know, were all too pleased to condemn both Marisa and Asriel to hell with their testimonials. Several perjured themselves as they 'accounted' seeing the couple at unacceptable time and in suggestive poses. The whole experience was a lesson in how paper thin loyalty truly was, not that it surprised Marisa much. And even though her counsel often did object to the lies, it was really just the words of those who characterised their personalities to be free of all sin against a sexually-driven couple who were in the depths of it.

It was a losing battle.

However, there were some redeeming instances.

Sandra Reynolds had sworn that Marisa was the most pious person she knew; a lie but Marisa appreciated the act of solidarity, it seemed she did have a true friend in her after all. The same couldn't be said though for Penny Augustus and Louise Rutherford, who both went to great lengths in explaining how they'd bumped into the scandalous pair at the National Theatre. The pair delving into as much detail as their allotted time would allow them regarding the coat misunderstanding. Oh, it was excruciating and all the time Marisa fantasied about Ozymandias grabbing their little daemons by the neck and strangling them until their last breaths. The Polsteads, who had been obliged to take the stand, blanketed their answers with vagueness. Mr. Polstead had affirmed that the visits made by the defendants that were logged in his Register were true but denied having any knowledge of their activities behind the doors of the Terrace Room.

"No idea, whatsoever?" Mr. Keating had retorted. "It's common knowledge that the wooden floorboards at inns are cheaply made and hence quite thin and those walls are nowhere near soundproof. Are you sure you didn't hear anything, Mr. Polstead?"

"It must be old age, sir," the innkeeper returned. "It has turned these ears into quite an accessory if I'm to be honest."

Bless him.

Despite all these witnesses, Mr. Keating was not to be satisfied until the day the duo themselves underwent his interrogation. And it was on this day, as Marisa took her seat in the witness box, that she could finally fully appreciate the buzz that had gathered around the calamity that is 'Marisa and Asriel' or as the newspapers had shortened it to, 'Masriel'. The jury sat alert in their seats, the court clerk and bishop had turned to angle themselves in her direction, the journalists at the back had their pens to the ready and the public gallery was as still as the sea. Time had frozen. All cameras and eyes were on her, even Asriel's. Marisa smirked inwardly as she ran her fingers through Ozymandias' golden fur, restoring her calm and control.

They wanted a show.

She'll give them a show.

"Mrs. Coulter, before we start, may I offer my deepest condolences. I'm truly sorry for your loss." The prosecutor had scored the first point, making a jab at Marisa's sentimentalities but she'd long since hardened her heart against Edward after she heard Maggie recount how he'd hunted Lyra down. He deserved to die and Marisa wasn't afraid to admit it. As a result, she was able to remain perfectly poised on the stand as Mr. Keating continued. "Why don't you walk us through the series of events that led to today?"

"Very well." Marisa straightened up, steadying both her hands by Ozymandias' sides. "I'd met Lord Belacqua through my late husband at a gathering we had hosted at our residence and, just like anyone, as I got to know Lord Belacqua I was astounded by his success, his conviction and his charm. I'd learnt of his work in the North and eventually decided to propose that he join me on the paper I was working on at the time."

"Yes, yes." Mr. Keating interrupted from his seated position. He filtered through a stack of sheets in front of him before dramatically selecting one and holding it up to his eyes. "'Evidence of Adhuc Maris in Upernavik, New Denmark' written jointly by yourself and Lord Belacqua. As I understand it, you failed to ask any other scholar to aid you even though you'd been working on this paper months prior to meeting Lord Belacqua. Was there a reason for this?"

Marisa sighed into her response. "The world we live in, Mr. Prosecutor, has been made by men for men. A learned woman is almost unheard of, a female scholar even less so. Did you know that out of the 106 colleges in Anglia there is only one reserved for ladies? That being St. So-"

"The point being, Mrs. Coulter?"

"The point being that it's hard out here for women. We only have one shot at life. So when I decided to make mine, I made sure I did it with the best of the best. That being Lord Belacqua, Mr. Prosecutor." Keating seemed to accept this as he dropped the paper in his hand and leaned back into his seat, gesturing to Marisa to continue. "Things remained on track until last September when Lord Belacqua had returned from New Denmark with the conclusion of the expedition. His conduct had changed."

"Had something happened?" Mr. Keating questioned. The room had completely immersed itself in Marisa's words and she heard Ozymandias hum quietly to himself, surprisingly delighted by the attention.

"The only thing that had happened was that Lord Belacqua had succeeded, as he always did, on his expedition. He'd brought back to London evidence of Adhuc Maris," she focused her eyes on the Asriel, from here on out there was no going back, "and with that ammunition to coerce me into doing things I would never normally do."

She watched as Asriel's face soured, understanding where she was going to go with her timeline of events. And although it hurt to betray the man who had only ever loved her, Marisa had witnessed enough betrayal and isolation during this trial to last her lifetime. She'd watched people she knew turn their backs on her and throw more fuel into the fire with hopes of watching her burn at the stake of their forged lies. Crucifying her. How unfair it was. For the only perceived wrong she'd committed was loving a man for the first time in her life and for that, the most human of emotions, she was being persecuted like a witch of Salem. Like she was Jezebel or Esmeralda. If she'd known loving Asriel would have cost her so, she would have barred her heart against it that evening she'd met him. But here she was, with no partial defence to aid her, Marisa was facing the maximum sentence for adultery under the eyes of the Church Court which was stoning until morbidity. And Marisa would be damned if she did not fight tooth and nail to reduce that sentence even if it meant tying a noose around Asriel's neck whilst she was at it.

"So now Lord Belacqua is solely to blame?" Marisa's focus flashed onto the prosecutor as she discreetly gripped Ozymandias' tail like a vice. Mr. Keating's voice was light with humour and it infuriated her. Did he not understand the gravity of the situation at hand? Or did he understand and seek cruel pleasure from it irregardless? She let out a soft exhale and released the tail. She had to keep herself tethered to control or she would lose everything and she had already lost so much.

"No. I have enough self awareness to admit that. Asriel deceived me. Had he told me that he wished to gain something out of aiding me, that being a sexual encounter, instead of leading me on to believe he carried out the favour altruistically, I would have sought another scholar. But this man is the snake in the Garden of Eden and he cloaked his intentions with a good deed, like a second skin, only to ensnare me upon his return."

"Did he physically threaten you?"

"Yes."

"Did he vocally demand you sleep with him?"

Marisa forced her voice to break here. "Y-yes."

"Did you ever try to stop him?"

"Of course… of course I tried," a controlled tear ran down her left cheek whilst she visibly clutched her daemon as if the questioning brought her back to traumatic scenes of abuse "but look at Lord Belacqua's daemon in comparison to mine. There was no possible way I could escape."

"Why didn't you tell someone?"

Marisa made the mistake of looking at Asriel again. She could see unadulterated hurt splayed across his face, raw emotion. She wished she could take it all back and comfort him with a loving embrace and in her momentary daze of regret she let her true feelings bleed into her next words.

"Shame. It was the shame of it all. Before I met Asriel I had never sinned by intent, the fear of The Authority burned through my veins. I still had a clear conscience. But I soon found myself on the wrong path and though it wasn't my fault I took it, I must bear at least some blame for continuing on it."

"And why did you do that, Mrs. Coulter?"

The implication hung in the air. Everyone knew what Mr. Keating was referring to. The only emotion that could make a person act against all rational, against God; the most passionate of feelings. Marisa felt both Ozymandias and Stelmaria peer at her expectantly from their respective positions as if her admitting to her love for Asriel might undo all the things she'd said. But Marisa could not admit it aloud lest she wished to self immolate herself on this stand. And to be honest, she wasn't even sure if-

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I couldn't hear you."

"I don't know why," she repeated louder. She tightly closed her eyes, as she felt true tears begin to pool, and counted to three whilst she recomposed herself. When she opened her lids, the prosecutor had stood up.

"Are your feelings detached from you, ma'am?"

"No, Mr. Prosecutor."

"Are you so far removed from your soul that you are unaware of the emotions you feel?"

Marisa shifted in her seat. "I don't think I quite follow your line of questioning-"

"You sit there... in that box and point to a man of more rank and title than you will ever have and cry 'he made me do it'. Take some responsibility." He was walking towards her, his Akita daemon following with his jaw set with malicious intent. "Not once did you try to reach out to a confessional, a family member, a friend. Not once did you display any feelings of remorse or try to repent for your sins. No, you fornicated with Lord Belacqua for months and when your actions bore fruit you lied and said the baby had died." He was by the witness box now, an arm resting casually on its edge as he tilted towards her. "Now why is that? Because you were unwilling to admit your sin. And why is that? Because you were heads over heels in love with Lord Belacqua. And now you sit there and try to cry out wolf. It won't suffice, Mrs. Coulter. It just won't." He finished with a forceful tap on the wooden edge before he turned to return to his seat.

Keating had broken the last element of control Marisa had desperately been holding on to; she was now unhinged.

"I sit here as a woman prepared to take accountability over the fact that I have sinned!"

The prosecutor spun round to face her, surprised the woman still had it within her to fight.

"We have all sinned; some more publically known than others as today evidently proves. But I have come to terms with my wrongdoings and their consequences. Now I implore you to trust a woman who is now willing to change and devote her whole life to serve the Magisterium and walk in the light of The Authority towards complete repentance. I wish no longer to live a life of sin, guilt and regret and to prove my renewed fidelity to The Authority and my detachment from my past ways, I formally revoke any and all maternal claim to Ms. Lyra Belacqua."

Her words had come out in such a rush of emotion void of thought.

What had she just done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mic drop! Did Marisa just steal the show? 
> 
> I think she did.


	24. Adhuc Maris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The verdict is in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my hardest with the court rhetoric. If you’re a lawyer or law student please don’t come for me, lol.

**...and he tries to tame you**

**says that he could never forget you**

**want anything but you**

**you dizzy him, you are unbearable**

**every woman before or after you**

**is doused in your name**

**you fill his mouth**

**his teeth aches with the memory of taste**

**his body just a long shadow seeking yours**

**but you are always too intense**

**frightening in the way that you want him**

**unashamed and sacrificial**

**he tells you no man can live up to the one who**

**lives in your head**

**and you tried to change didn't you?**

**tried to be softer**

**less volatile**

**less awake**

**but even when sleeping you could feel**

**him travelling away from you in his dreams**

**and if he wants to leave**

**then let him leave**

**you are terrifying**

**and strange and beautiful**

**something not everyone knows how to love**

**-**

**For Women Who Are Difficult To Love (modified): Warsan Shire**

* * *

After the reprehensible act Asriel had watched Marisa give on the stand, the scholar's vocabulary had been reduced to curt yeses and solemn noes much to the distaste of Mr. Keating. The prosecutor had tried to change tact whilst he engaged with Asriel, who was now the one seated in the witness box, making his questions as open as possible but still mindful of them not being too vague lest Asriel's counsel objected. But Asriel did not budge. Every question was met with a one word answer, the facts of the affair affirmed and Marisa's lies denied. If Asriel was unable to package a reasonable answer into a word, he would fall back onto his right to remain silent. The differences in the way Asriel handled the questioning in comparison Marisa could not have been more acute. Where she had rambled on in a passionate fashion, Asriel remained as silent as the night. They were truly opposites that attracted. The only thing the new position afforded him was the opportunity to glare daggers at Marisa for the better half of an hour with only one thing on his mind.

_How dare she disown their daughter?_

* * *

Glass reflected a face that was drawn, ravaged by the efforts of the trial to produce dark, hollowed pits under the eyes that had been dug during the event of sleepless nights. Concealer failed to hide how much resemblance the reflection's countenance shared with Yanis, Mrs Fantoche's raccoon daemon. Blush had been layered onto the cheeks to give the impression of life on the dull face; red lipstick used to paint the cracked, pale lips that had been dried out by excessive dehydration. Dead curls hung from the scalp to frame the features of the ghost in the mirror, only making the figure appear more ghoulish as the dark hair strongly contrasted the sickly white face.

Marisa could hardly recognise herself.

Her appearance had transcended life itself and left an image that better suited a corpse in a morgue than a living, breathing woman. She knew her perception of her looks were dysmorphic, grossly exaggerated in her mind as the stress of life spiraling out control forced her to grasp onto anything she could control and, as a result, she'd found herself in the toilet obsessing over her face in the mirror. Her focus fell to Ozymandias' reflection in the mirror. He was resting on the sink counter, anxiously grooming his fur, picking at imaginary pieces of lint and dirt. It was a pathetic display and seeing her anxieties played out in front of her ignited an anger inside Marisa. He sensed it and consequently, her daemon got angry too, now furiously yanking out clumps of golden fur from his arm causing Marisa's skin to sting. She grasped her arm at the region where a ferocious red bruise was starting to form, her mouth opening into a silent cry. But her distress only caused the golden monkey to ravage his fur further and soon her silent cries were exchanged for a guttural growl that erupted from the depths of her darkening heart as the pain subsided and the self-hate emerged. She'd had enough. She snatched his offending arm and twisted it behind his back causing them both to let out a low hiss. It seemed to hurt him more than it hurt her. Maybe he wasn't used to direct pain, any pain he had ever felt was always second-hand from Marisa either being hurt by another or inflicting pain on herself. Maybe she'd feel better if she just- The golden monkey was whimpering now. The sound, sickening. She flung his arm away and he scampered to the sink corner, tending to his sore arm. Unconsciously, during the hardship of the past few weeks, they'd forged a deeper connection. Still atypically non-verbal and rather physical but it worked.

Whatever it was, it worked for them.

She looked back at the mirror and saw the ghost was gone. It was her usual self reflected back. Coiffed hair, smooth skin, graceful features and just enough makeup to compensate for the lack of sleep. She practiced smiling. It was strained but beautiful nonetheless. Marisa finally felt collected enough to leave; she'd already wasted enough of the recess trying to recover.

Oh, that's right.

The reason she was in the toilet in the first place. Emotions she'd compartmentalised in the meantime came flooding back to her. It was the anguish she'd felt as Asriel's eyes bore into hers that had driven her into the bathroom once Bishop Augustus had declared recess. It was the torturing reality that the man she loved now despised her with all his being that had freed the tears that stained her face, spoiling her makeup and necessitating a new made up face.

It was Asriel who'd broken her.

"You done crying?"

And here he was. In the ladies, no less. She looked at him through the mirror, too exhausted to even face him.

"You shouldn't be here," she sighed. His blue eyes were livid and his heaving chest made it painfully obvious how hard he was struggling to control his anger. She'd never seen him like this, of all the emotions in the world he seemed to always have anger in check. Well, until today.

"Why, Marisa, it's all out in the open now," he sneered sarcastically. "There's no need for us to hide anymore."

"Still, it's the ladies and I don't feel like entertaining this right now." Marisa busied herself with applying a new layer of lipstick to her already coated lips. Her nonchalance aggravated him and by the way he forcefully crossed his arms it looked like he'd much rather use his hands to strangle her on the spot.

"Marisa, look at me."

Her eyes flicked to his via the mirror. "I am."

"Turn around."

"I'm not going to do that." She handed Ozymandias her lipstick, which he reached for tentatively - still scared she might lash out again, and watched as he tucked it away in her purse. "You need to leave," she affirmed.

A deep growl escaped Stelmaria as Asriel grabbed Marisa's shoulders, forcing her to turn around. She kept her gaze focused on Ozymandias, his tense breathing matching hers.

"Look at me, Marisa."

Reluctantly, she did. Their faces now inches apart.

"Take it back." His words came out stiff, forced through gritted teeth. "Go to Bishop Augustus and tell him that you've changed your mind. Take her back."

Call it pride, vanity, egotism or self-importance. Label it 'Marisa being stupid', stubborn or unwilling to give into her desire to keep her child. Say anything but Marisa will never again yield to a man and, above all else, Marisa would never again yield to Asriel.

"I'm not going to do that."

"Marisa, I don't think you understand that I'm not asking."

"And you fail to understand that I'm Not. Going. To. Do. That."

Her hot puffs of breath landed against his chin. She wished she'd worn heels today; she hated how he slightly towered over her as if he was the dominant one in this situation. No, it was her choice, she was the one who had ultimate control. Today, she finally had the upper hand. One of his hands slowly snaked up the minimal space between them to grasp her chin, pulling her head closer to his so that now she was on her tiptoes.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" His hand tilted her head from one side to the other, inspecting her as if this was the first time he'd truly seen her. "Or have you always been this crazy?"

A sinister laugh slipped out of Marisa which visibly repulsed the man in front of her; he'd finally seen her true colours.

"When I was child my mother used to make me recite my loyalty to The Authority before I went to bed; she said it would guide me,"Asriel's brows furrowed at her words, confused as to why she was bringing this up now, but Marisa carried on nonetheless, "and I continued to recite that every night until that cursed evening at the theatre. You made me question my loyalty, my morals and look where that got me." She used both her hands to tug at his grip of her chin, the rough movement freeing her but bruising the skin. The swift speed and force of her movement stunned Asriel and he stood there, shocked, as Marisa rubbed at her chin.

"You didn't believe me then but I meant it when I said I don't like to associate with sin. For months I fooled myself, believing that the feelings I felt for you, those emotions that felt so good and right couldn't possibly be sinful. How could love, an emotion The Authority himself professes for all his creations, be a sin? But this here…"

Marisa ceased rubbing her chin, instead using her fingers to pull at Asriel's tie, bringing him towards her as her lips crashed into his. He fell into the kiss. His arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her up as he backed her into the sink. On their own volition, her legs wrapped around his waist and she moaned as he deepened the kiss, feeling his hands grasp at her ass through her trousers. It felt like they could continue this passionate display of emotions without end but they eventually were forced to part as they heard Stelmaria hiss at a woman who'd attempted entering the toilet. The tips of their noses rested on each other as the air released in their exhales mingled in the space between them. Asriel's eyes were glazed with sexual desire and that look was exactly Marisa's point. She rested her fingers on his soft lips so he couldn't move to kiss her and took a second to appreciate the feel of his beard under her palm. She loved this man.

"This here isn't love, Asriel."

He didn't register what she had just said. Instead, his focus momentarily slipped from Marisa's face to her neck where there was a gold necklace that just about shone through the thick black cotton of her turtleneck.

He smirked. She still wore it.

Marisa noted as Asriel glared unabashedly at her chest. Even at a time like this he couldn't help himself, his perverse action providing her voice with enough conviction to make her following statement sound like she actually believed it.

"This is lust."

She released her legs and used them to forcefully push him away so that he almost stumbled into Stelmaria. Marisa then turned to the mirror to check if her lipstick was smudged but it was fine. Her voice took on a harsher tone as she resumed looking at Asriel through the mirror from her perched position on the sink counter.

"Lust is a sin which means that girl was born from sin and I will not associate with it."

"Marisa -" Asriel tried as he approached her but he was met with a vicious slap across his face that was coupled with a primitive scream, not from the golden monkey but from Marisa herself.

"I said no!" She was feral. "She'll be of no use to me and I'll be of no good to her. I have barely any money, no assets of my own. I'm not even sure if Edward's provisions for me in his will will even hold anymore and you want me to invite a child into my life to leech off the remaining resources I have. No. I've had one Belacqua too many in my life already. I don't need another to mess it up even further."

Both Marisa and Ozymandias jumped off the counter with graceful landings and she smoothed the material of her trousers.

"You're going to regret this, Marisa."

He spoke with such finality but how could he possibly know? He didn't know her. He'd never understand her. She reached for her purse on the counter and gave one last glance at her reflection. It was as good as it will ever be.

Asriel continued. "One day you'll long for Lyra and she will reject you as vehemently as you are rejecting her now."

She let out a dry laugh as she headed towards the door. "Is that supposed to be a threat or something?"

"It's an assurance because as much as you hate to admit it, you're as human as the rest of us, Marisa. And you'll come to regret this just like anyone else would."

She twisted her head to give him one last look. "Please, have you met me? Anyways, if you care so much why don't you steal her away? She is Lyra after all," she sneered, " _your song of truth_ , she'll lead you straight to her."

* * *

"This was never a trial of whether the accused were guilty or not. No, we'd all entered this knowing the facts of the matter and as the defendants very early on plead guilty to the charges against them, we could all provide greater focus to the key element of ecclesiastical court law. This was a dream my dear friend, the late Edward Coulter, had strived greatly for. Though I am sad to practice it firsthand in the event of his death, I am proud to have stayed true to his wishes. The 'Article to Restore Religious Justice' aimed to shift the court's aim from trying crime to trying sin and with the holy word as it's backbone, administer punishment justly."

Marisa watched as Bishop Augustus took great pleasure in this moment, this was his moment to shine and he milked as much clout out of it as possible.

"May the accused please rise."

Both Marisa and Asriel's counsels stood up.

"In the case of the City of London versus Lord Asriel Belacqua, in count one the jury reads as follows: We, the jury, find the defendant Lord Asriel Belacqua guilty of voluntary manslaughter in violation of Exodus 20:13 and place the charge dated today. But in light of Timothy 5:8, the jury raises a full defence in acknowledgement of the lord's desire to protect his kin, Ms. Lyra Belacqua. Hence, the charge for count one is negated and the defendant acquitted of all charges under count one." Bishop Augustus paused as there was a rise in murmurs coming from the public gallery and press corner. Marisa herself had to admit she was surprised too as though she'd guessed Asriel would find a more lenient charge due to the motivations behind the murder, she had not expect him to be free of it altogether. She stole a cursory glance at him to see he was unmoved by the news, his face as stoic as ever. Once the room had fell back into silence the bishop continued.

"In regards to count two the jury reads as follows: We, the jury, find the defendant, Lord Asriel Belacqua, guilty of fornication with a married woman in violation of Hebrews 13:4 and place the charge dated today." Shocker! "In regards to count three the jury reads as follows: We, the jury, find the defendant, Lord Asriel Belacqua, guilty of an attempt to move Ms. Lyra Belacqua from Anglia to Caledonia on the pretence of her death to evade justice and place the charge dated today. The sentence goes as follows: Lord Asriel Belacqua will be stripped of all land, property and wealth save for an estate in Ely and a house in London. All proceedings will go to the Magisterium. Upon the request of Jordan College, the defendant will maintain their scholastic title granted by the named college provided the defendant continues to provide sufficient input to the named institution. Upon royal decree, the defendant will also maintain their lordship."

The court was in uproar. Asriel had definitely gotten off light, Marisa thought, she wouldn't be surprised to learn that some scholars had fought in his corner behind closed doors. Or maybe, most likely, the bishop himself had benefited from a lighter charge. She also wouldn't be surprised to hear in a few months that some of Asriel's former properties had been sold off to Augustus at a significantly reduced price.

Silence, eventually, resumed.

"In the case of the City of London versus Mrs. Marisa Delamere-Coulter, in count one the jury reads as follows: We, the jury, find the defendant Mrs. Marisa Delamere-Coulter guilty of adultery in violation of Hebrews 13:4 and place the charge dated today. In regards to count two the jury reads as follows: We, the jury, find the defendant, Mrs. Marisa Delamere-Coulter, guilty of an attempt to move Ms. Lyra Belacqua from Anglia to Caledonia on the pretence of her death to evade justice and place the charge dated today. But in light of the defendant's accounts of suffering coercion and manipulation in addition to the defendant's full repentance for her sins subject to her own conditions being met, the jury raises a partial defence."

Marisa stilled. Her gamble had paid off, the jury had favoured her. She sighed in relief.

"Hence, the jury issues a reduced sentence which includes the removal of the accused's scholastic title granted by St. Sophia's College and instead maintenance as an honorary member. Enlistment of the accused into the Magisterium's academic sector as to fulfil the defendant's promise of devotion to The Authority. Upon the request of the Royal Arctic Institute, the defendant will remain a member of the institute provided the defendant continues to provide sufficient input to the named institution. Lastly, the accused will be excluded from any provisions made for them in the late Mr. Edward Coulter's will."

Her sentencing was definitely more thorough than Asriel's and virtually left her with nothing but, at least, it was miles more preferable to stoning.

"In regards to item one the jury reads as follows: We, the jury, deny the defendant, Lord Asriel Belacqua, custody of Ms. Lyra Belacqua as we find the accused to not be repentant of his violent and sinful acts and hence find him a risk to Ms. Lyra Belacqua. We call for a restraining order of 50 miles between Lord Asriel Belacqua and any location Ms. Lyra Belacqua may find herself. Regarding the complications posed to the safety and welfare of Ms. Lyra Belacqua as a result of this charge and sentence in addition to Mrs. Marisa Delamere-Coulter's dismal of the her kin: We, the jury, place Ms. Lyra Belacqua in the care of the nuns at Godstow priory, Oxford as of effect from today."

In the corner of Marisa's periphery view, she saw Asriel's head drop at the declaration. He'd lost her. Marisa had greatly misjudged how much the girl had meant to him and as Bishop Augustus concluded the hearing, Asriel's head slowly lifted and turned to face her. Their eyes locked and in that still stretch of time which seemed as endless as the body of water that made up the sea, Marisa felt like she was being drowned in a pool of black tar. Choking helplessly on feelings of sin, guilt and regret. The toxic liquid burning flames of hatred through her veins as she met Asriel's loathing glare, her eyes stinging without a single tear to shed. She felt like she wasn't alone, like she was an amalgamation of women who at this very moment, when time seemingly stopped, had come to the realisation that the gift of free will had been man's greatest curse. She already knew, as much as she hated to admit it, that her actions, which could no longer be overturned, would come to haunt her in future sleepless nights. No matter how hard she tried to atone for her sins through correcting the wrongs in this world, this guilt would continue to plague her soulless heart. That this feeling would never feel foreign again as when the names 'Asriel' or 'Lyra' were ever uttered, her heart would wrench again.

Time would stop again.

Regret at losing what could have been would drown her in sorrow, again.

It would be the unknown sensation of Adhuc Maris, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roll credits.
> 
> Sike. 
> 
> It’s been a journey but there's a bit more. The main story is over but a three-part epilogue is coming your way so stay tuned.


	25. Epilogue 1: Marisa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marisa loses herself for a moment in time and reflects on her present life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll summarise the next few chapters as first-person thought exploration. They're silent thoughts in the not-so-distant future of our hero- sorry, our villains. Plus a surprise character in Epilogue 3. Anyways this is me not so covertly trying to lower the expectations of anyone expecting a fully-fledged narrative, there's none. But you made it this far so...

My mind is lost.

I feel so empty.

Like a cup without a bottom that I try so anxiously to fill. 

The feeling is constant. A carnivorous hollow in my heart which aggressively feeds at my thoughts. It makes me doubt my reasonings, my actions, my beliefs. At times, my rationale tells me I can fill this void with physical stimuli; the act of submissive sex with Boreal, the searing pain down my spine as I clutch the golden hairs of Ozymandias, the burn of alcohol against my throat whilst I wallow my sorrows away.

The emptiness remains. Nothing can soothe it. 

Often, I find myself staring into nothingness, trapped in a daze of reflection as time stops for a while. Detached re-enactments of the past plays out across my lids; I’m an audience member in a pantomime. I scream at the projection of myself to kiss you, Asriel, one last time instead of slapping you. I beg her - me - to cradle dear Lyra a little longer as I rest by my bedside. To kiss her small forehead and ring my finger through the curls of her baby hair, enacting more physical contact so that maybe… the present me... could remember those long-lost sensations.

My pleas fall on deaf ears.

She doesn’t hear. 

She ignores me just as perfectly as I ignored my internal wants and desires during those very moments.

The girl trapped within the woman, who was unable to melt the barrier of ice around my heart, still cries out today. 

Nothing has changed. Regret still lingers. Ideas of what could’ve been had she - I - not been such a cold, unfeeling bitch. The regret bubbles into anger and resentment directed at the world that left me behind. And to cope, I’ve unconsciously decided that I did not abandon those I love but, instead, they abandoned me. Lyra abandoned me. Asriel,... you abandoned me. Both of you left a ghost to roam the streets of London, a shell of the woman I’d once been. The female ghoul loiters at night, like the undead often do, and commits quite heinous acts. Things I can not say aloud lest I accept them as my new reality. 

Will I drown myself in Tokay tonight? Is self-harm on the itinerary? Or is it a one night stand? Take my pick of the litter and still nothing changes…

I still feel empty.

No - correction - she feels empty. I’m not to blame for my actions, remember I’m the girl trapped inside the woman. I watch her life play out in front of me, unable to participate. But in the recess of this ice queen’s conscience I can find those who are responsible for this cursed existence.

Who is to blame?

Who shall I blame?

You, Asriel; an object of sin. Lyra; the product of sin.

Or, better yet, sin itself.

Just like that, I’ve found something tangible to blame for all my wrongs. The girl can finally understand the woman. It wasn’t her fault. She was tainted with sin, the devil himself had made Marisa his muse. She was helpless. It was too late for her. She was condemned to the life she lived, the suffering, the violent acts against self. And I, the passenger in this ordeal, must endure it all.

But others? Others could be saved.

The woman had found a purpose which the girl could wholeheartedly support. Preserving sinless souls. That meaning to her life grounded her, grounded me. I had purpose. Suddenly, the cup only seemed half empty. Life, a more bearable burden. The ice melted and the girl and woman were molded into one. 

The emptiness is still there and sometimes a hunger to fill it would call me back to my more toxic traits and I’d find myself wrapped up in the cold embrace of a stranger, inebriated on the floor or bleeding out. However, the medicine of purpose, more often than not, did the job. Past regrets were easier to forget but the future is, unbeknownst to me, bleaker still.

All I know is no matter how full I become, I'll always miss you my loves.

My Asriel.

My Lyra.

* * *

**Marisa’s mind slowly fell back onto the plane of reality as she rubbed away at her eyelids, wishing away the obscurity of her previous haze.**

**She’d zoned out.**

**She had to stop doing that.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Kay! One down, two more to go. 
> 
> And what does that also mean, three more Sundays until HDM S2 premiere. And three Sundays + a year till S3, which will honestly kill me once it's released (RIP my future self!).
> 
> I'm being so chatty today. This is weird! Bye!


	26. Epilogue 2: Asriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brooding Asriel delves into his psyche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried! I honestly tried my hardest to make this fic reach the S2 premiere and then I find out it's being released on the 16th. All that effort just to be defeated by BBC execs.
> 
> Anyways, look out for the shameless plug to my other fic below.

I often dream of thee.

A portrait in the night sky. Your blue eyes, planets of their own and I the moon that finds comfort in your orbit. Your curls, a belt across space; the brown locks coiling round to ensnare me in your intoxicating void. Oh have mercy on me, you celestial being. For you are otherworldly, my daily worship. I listen to the words that slip out from the curve of your ruby lips, fiery red like the planes of Mars, and take them as the verbatim of love. I need look no further for a work of beauty, for you, Marisa, are the greatest beauty to ever be.

* * *

Work comforts me in my wake, grounds my being to reality in contrast to my soul which wanders the planes of dreams in search of you. The theories I indulge in turn the gears of my mind, the brain working like clockwork. Tick tock. A routine is set and I follow it religiously. Long stretches of research and studying with only short breaks when the stomach calls for nourishment. And even then, Thorold attends to that for me. You were right, Marisa, he is a better servant. Like a virus in the computer system of my daily schedule, thoughts of you infect my workflow. It can never satisfy - work, that is. I find myself craving sleep in hope of finding satisfaction in that world of make believe where you exist again.

* * *

I often dream of thee.

A hand-stitched tapestry of motherhood. Notice how the embroidery utilises silk to colour your skin and hers. You both shine like porcelain angels, smooth and unblemished. My imagination must have taken its time crafting this piece of artwork as the pair of you make an image of perfection. Closed lids, you embrace each other in heavenly slumber - her chubby fingers clutching at the threads of your hair. Neither of you wish to let go and in this fabrication, society is not present to tear this mother-daughter bond, that is so pure and right, apart. Love imbues into the rosy patch sewn onto your cheeks. I know you could’ve loved her if you had the chance; the love inside you cries out like a banshee and is only silenced by the ever oppressive world we live in. Not now, though. Right now, this tapestry hangs on the wall of what could’ve been. These are my favourite girls. Marisa and Lyra.

* * *

The frigid air of the North distracts me from my desires. Expeditions equal escapism. A simple equation for a complex problem. A conundrum complicated by emotions and feelings I dare not explore, at least not while I’m awake. Not when there is more to live for, more to do than reminisce on past fantasies. The North is freedom from it all but it’s not far enough. The taste of you is still palpable - your cries, your kisses, your soft words; they chase me out onto this barren land. So I search for a greater purpose to inflame my heart and consume my mind, in hope of filling the alcove you’ve made inside of me. That pit that longs to be filled with your love and her love. Oh, my dears, will you follow me out here? 

Will you follow me out to the world’s end?

* * *

I often dream of thee.

An incomplete film reel of growth. Gaping holes in development that are so stark each time I return to Jordan. How have you jumped from baby to toddler to pre-teen? What had I missed whilst I was away? I can imagine you taking your first steps, those unstable chubby legs tottering side to side as you chase after Pantalimon. But I met you already walking - cold to my embrace as you had already forgotten these ‘paternal’ arms that once held you. I conjure thoughts of you learning your first words. Was pronunciation difficult? Of course not, you’re a Belacqua. Learning comes innate. However, I saw you at six already talking fluently and you’d chosen ‘uncle’ to address me as I was never there to tell you to call me ‘father’. An error that could have easily been corrected but how the lie bore fruit in my mind producing an apple tree of knowledge where I could take shade from the burning rays of guilt and regret. Where you could not ask me where your mother was or why I was never there to be the father you needed. Yes, ‘uncle’ was much more preferable so the deception took root. I never had to imagine you disappointed though. That crestfallen look is seared into my memory. I see it every time I leave you, the tremble of the lip and the break in the voice. Another shattered hope of joint voyage to the North. I’m sorry, Lyra. I just can’t. Before I knew it, you’d become bold enough to run away after hearing the news that I would abandon you once again.

How old were you, again?

Twelve?

* * *

Further still. I must depart from this world. I can feel my dreams as they begin to encroach on reality. Marisa, your essence lingers in my cell amongst the bears and Lyra, you magically appeared in front of me in my one region of solace. My North. Expedition is unequal to escapism. The equation no longer solves the problem. The events of life have proven it wrong and rejected my null hypothesis. A new solution is needed and I strive to rip my answer through the fabric of reality itself. A portal into another world only to find more portals and more worlds. And away I go, further still. Running away from favourite girls, Marisa and Lyra.

The irony is…

You both follow all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feels are real. This might be the only time I actually feel sorry for Asriel. He's just m i s u n d e r s t o o d.
> 
> Saw this great tapestry which I basically based off this entire chapter on: https://www.gingershoponline.com/en/product/mother-and-child-by-klimt-tapestry-32x32/ 
> 
> If someone, anyone, wants to buy it for me, let me know! (just an idea XD) [edit: Just wanted to make it clear this is my poor attempt at a joke and I definitely don't expect nor want anyone to do this. I thought I was being funny but now reading it back... :/]


	27. Epilogue 3: Lyra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra imagines what her parents would be like if they were alive, little does she know...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't really write a fic about how Lyra came to be without giving her her own standalone chapter!

The librarian has tasked me with reciting scriptures on the blackboard whilst he took a much-needed lunch break but I find I have distracted myself once again. I’ve cleaned the chalkboard clear of all the verses I had initially scribbled onto it and now stare at the black canvas. With the chalk stick, a weapon in my hand, I channel the energies of Michelangelo, Monet and Kahlo. Empowered, I make my first stroke. It’s a hesitant white mark but a start nonetheless. It’s all I need, the rest starts to pour out of me onto the board as repressed emotions bubble to the surface.

What do my parents look like?

Father. Your portrait is characterised by straight lines and sharp edges. I imagine you to be quite the commanding figure, tough, with a stoic face. But under that hard exterior there’s a softness and kindness you’re too scared to free as you fret it will control you and veer you away from what you believe is most important. However, in the peace of the evenings you let your barriers fall bare and the warmer side of you comes to comfort mother and I. I stab a million white dots into the lower half of your face. Men with beards are just better. And my brain fabricates the sensation of your stubbly chin rubbing against my smooth face as you fold me into one of your plentiful bear hugs. I dream you are affectionate. Kind. Loving. Yet, when the situation calls for it those sharp eyes dart across the thin slits I drew for you and you become cold and calculating. No one can best you and that’s why I always win my fights against the Costa boys. Winning comes innate. Oh father, send for me and I will come. I will travel the harshest of terrains and fight the scariest of monstrosities just to be in your presence. I’ll do anything just to see you and call you father.

Mother, I can’t do you justice for I only have one shade which is the ivory of a tusk. But I imagine the colours onto your portrait. You have brilliant eyes, big and wide. Open and inquisitive. Your eyes tell the story of your pursuit for answers no matter the cost and I reason that’s where I got my stubbornness from. Now, I can blame you for that mother. I swear to The Authority you must be the prettiest thing to walk the Earth and hence all the men adore you and shower you with gifts and fancy things and in kind, you spoil me too. Your beauty would make all the other kids envious of me as they would desire a mother with such grace and poise, so much so that many would rather leave theirs at the chance of being in your warm embrace. Your hair is curly and tangles just like mine but you would sit me down and tame those unruly knots with your gentle fingers. Oh mother, if I could draw sounds it would be an image of the tune of angels at the gates of the Republic of Heaven. That soft voice still calls out to me whilst I cry myself to sleep, all alone in my cold bed; your voice comes to comfort me. Your voice caresses my cheek as you profess you’re so happy you’ve found me and I reassure you that I’m so glad to finally be found. 

My mind starts to tread into dangerous territory. In a minefield of ‘what ifs’, where what if my parents never died blows up in front of my face. What if you’d survived and we could all play happy family? The chalk drawings start to blur and become white smudges as I feel tears flood into my eyes. I steel myself. It’s foolish to cry. The stronger the will, the stronger the mind. I harden my heart to the feelings of loss. You wouldn’t want to see me like that; that’s not the parents you are. We are Belacquas. You’d wish me to make the most of what I’ve got and forge a path out for myself in this lonely, desolate world.

I aggressively rub at my drawings. You’re both dead and though it hurts, that’s the fact of the matter. 

Dear mother and father, why couldn’t you have taken me with you? 

Why did you have to leave me here ... all alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all a big big thank you to you reader, it's amazing that you made it to the end! It means a lot and hope I added something to your week and you've had as much fun reading as I have had writing! And though he'll never see this, a big shoutout to Sir Phillip Pullman, honestly made lockdown a bit more bearable. 
> 
> I can't wait for S2 and maybe when it's done I'll be back with a one shot or two! Or maybe a sequel, who knows?
> 
> If you ever find yourself re-reading this fic, I've made a very long accompanying Spotify playlist called 'Sultry Masriel Playlist' (i'm trash, I know) which follows the progression of our favourite sinners relationship to a T.
> 
> Hope you're at peace wherever you are. Bye!

**Author's Note:**

> The scene has been set. 
> 
> So now that you know where things stand, please do chat to me in the comments. If you've spotted any SPAG errors, do tell. Next chapter, next Saturday.


End file.
